
mmmmammmrnmmmmm 





LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 




Shelf .s.C.cii.'l.o"^ F 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 

^ • 







I 







Ji- • J^-iCi- 




0> 




'> -• 




- 




T. 






;f»s ^ T *<^ 


^ r *5^. 






R^’ 


. j / • ^ 


.r 


_. nr^ ' 




a- 

^^4|S'; - 


4'*-^ 

• V _ IT 




w 




.•«U« 


i. ^j1 


» -V*4 


s^ 




i>^ 




,) 








.- -A 


^L. 






_ A 5 *r ..-^ .’ - 9 




«> 


w- 


. /* 




y\ \ 




1^- 




■ ■•, _.v. 


/>^ .- 


i t. 




m 


5»->^ 


iti' 








(4 


»■*' 


f:!! 






. 










?,.* 






TVk 


*,» VV" V ^-i*-' • - ■ i . - - 


\s> 


“M 


W ’-•'- K— ^ V 

As r'. ' •> p--.* 

. r- x'*"* ’f^ 

*l‘ 


—■ '^' 


fe"- 




- -sr 


• •*»■ 


',>s 




\W^ 






'i 




*1^'. 








5* 




4. 


V 






J 






>* 


/I 


• .♦ 


■>. 


L ^ 


by-. 










'-i. 


' Kc'* »ar':R'«:i?^i. “'v , >r'^; ::^ ' '■ .*• •', 


I ' 


^ » 

4. _ 

f 


A 




•rv 






L'U 




4.^ it 




'•«- •• 




— ** 


" c? * •„- - A., 









• r 





r 








yu: 





• - 










* * 

Vi 


I 


I 


•a. 


•$■ 




w* 


1 


«> 


i 


« 




t 


k 


I 


"0 


I 


I 


* < 


i 


• « 

a 


4 


I 




li 



« 







« 




I' 

I 




I 

t 



•%’w rr 




* “ . j 

■< “ 



.1. 







V? ’ 








Tk Fall of tk Stalncliffes. 





, ns^ • "■- '-SI 

‘Se 1 ■■.■• . -> '■ ' ■ '1 




f 

■- ‘ ♦ 


., -TV.; . v .,^ 

. . -V '-v ^ 




.: 0 ?. ■ • ’•. '•' v. -i' : 

* ' t • • ^ V * ^ 



V 





> « 



\ •» . I 


:'SV. 


* ■■ ?*■ ■tf- ■' / ^'‘ ^ 

v-' S* /Jt 


i. 






• ■ K'‘ : •'< . w: 


’ ^ ^ w ir« * 



' .-.'I' V '.» fi ^ 

A) .■'• •*■■ 


- 'V iV ■ * .' ■' ^ 

«. ir s * - 


■'>■'' ^'i'r • .'■■' '' ■ '-v.-?'.. .' .’ 

V'-' K:♦;^;\'r^,'$^^,; i .// '■. -1 ; 

- • :». '^./ ‘•vT^*^V-' ■■ •- ‘ 

■ • ■ .V ^ ^ 

• • ♦ I ' ^ • j ^ aJi • 




'♦ I' #* -*• ■* 

-• *' 

♦ ^ 




iCS. * f:.M* 

tS-v* ^ S' /, .W.x X v. "''’ 

« ,1^.-. • I- -«c»* > , ' ‘>. 'Ii^ V, •- * ; / 



t -. ««iPn -• . • . 


t. 







•• ~ .- 


* • -* 






•i*, 


yo 











Fr on tin piece 


THE BICYCLE ACCIDENT.— 5^6 page 40 






0 


The Fall of the Staincliffes. 


by 

/ 

ALFRED OOLBROK. 

• J 


WITH FIVE ILLlTSTRATWm. 


Prize Tale on Gambling. 


**The best mirror is an old friend.'* 


-rr 




I 


ariemind 1b. ‘Rcvell Compane 

Chicago: | New York: 

148-160 MADISON STREET. | CO UNION SQUARE EAST. 

* : $ jpublidber of EvangeUcal tl^itcr^tucc ; 1 1 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1890, by 
FLEMING H. REVELL, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
All Rights Reserved. 


CHARLES KINGSLEY 


ON GAMBLING. 


following letter of the novelist, Charles 
^^^Kingsley, written to his son, is so in keeping 
with the spirit of this little volume that it is thought 
not out of place to insert here as an added force in 
making emphatic the dangers of that widespread 
mania which many thoughtful writers name as sec- 
ond to no other vice in its dangerous and debasing 
influences on young and old. 

My Dearest Boy: There is a matter which gave me 
much uneasiness when you mentioned it. You said you 
had put into some lottery for the Derby and had hedged to 
make safe Now all that is bad, bad, nothing but bad. Of 
all habits gambling is the one I hate most and have avoided 
most. Of all habits it grows most on eager minds. Success 
and loss alike make it grow. Of all habits, however much 
civilized men may give way to it, it is one of the most in- 
trinsically savage. Historically, it has been the peace ex- 
citement of the lowest brutes in human form for ages past. 
Morally, it is unchivalrous and un-Christian. 

1. It gains money by the lowest and most unjust means, 
for it takes money out of your neighbor’s pocket without 
giving him anything in return. 

2. It tempts you to use what you fancy your superior 
knowledge of a horse’s merits — or anything else — to your 
neighbor’s harm. 

If you know better than your neighbor you are bound to 
give him your advice. Instead, you conceal your knowledge 
( 5 ) 


Charles Kingsley on Gambling, 


to win from his ignorance ; hence come all sorts of conceal- 
ments, dodges, deceits — I say the devil is the only father of 
it. I hope you have not won — I should not be sorry for you 
to lose. If you have won I shall not congratulate you. If 
you wish to please me you will give back to its lawful own- 
ers the money you have won. As you had put in you could 
not in honor draw back till after the event. Now you can 
give back your money, saying you understand that the head 
master and I disapprove of such things, and so gain a very 
great moral influence. Recollect always that the stock argu- 
ment is worthless. It is this : “ My friend would win from 
me if he could, therefore I have an equal right to win from 
him.’’ Nonsense. The same argument would prove that I 
have a right to maim or kill a man if only I give him leave 
to maim or kill me, if he can and will. 

I have spoken my mind once for all on a matter on which 
I have held the same views for more than twenty years, and 
trust in God that you will not forget my woids in after life. 
I have seen many a good fellow' ruined by finding himself 
one day short of money and trying to get a little by play or 
betting — and then the Lord have mercy on his simple soul, 
for simple it will not long remain. Mind, I am not the least 
angry with you. Betting is the w'ay of the world. So are 
all the seven deadly sins, under certain rules and pretty 
names ; but to the devil they lead if indulged in, in spite of 
the wise world and its ways. 


C. KINGSLEY. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER. 

I. 

The Staincliffe Family, 



PAGE. 

9 

11. 

A Birthday Present, 



19 

III. 

A Dismissal, 



30 

IV. 

The Accident, 



38 

V. 

Temptation, - - - - 



50 

VI. 

Tom and Lizzie, 



61 

VII. 

The Picnic, - - - - 



69 

VIII. 

Two Interviews, 



80 

IX. 

Broken Bands, - 



92 

X. 

The “Green Dragon,” - 



lOI 

XI. 

Dunsford Races, 



112 

XII. 

Missing, 



122 

XIII. 

Found, 



137 

XIV. 

A Robbery, - - - - 



147 

XV. 

Detected, - - - . 



157 

XVI. 

Reformation, - - - 



168 

XVII. 

The Riviera, 



176 

XVIII. 

Fire! 



182 

XIX. 

The Fatal Fascination, 


- 

188 

XX. 

Conclusion, - - - - 


- 

197 


( 7 ) 




My 






. .. ^ ifiil 



THE FALL OF THE STAINCLIFFES 


CHAPTER I 


THE STAINCLIFFE FAMILY. 



HE Staincliffes lived at Deerhill, an old-fash- 


* ioned place, half manor-house, half farm- 
stead, •within easy walking distance of the town 
of Easingholme. The whole neighborhood was 
picturesquely broken into valleys and uplands, 
rocky knolls and wooded slopes, with a touch of 
moorland overlooking all in the dim distance. The 
town itself, not long ago confined to a bend in the 
main valley, where the river swept round in a 
splendid curve, had stretched its arms up the nar- 
rower valleys and planted its factories on the tribu- 
tary streams. The surrounding hills had been am- 
bitiously climbed to find pleasantly situated resi- 
dences for its increasing population ; wide roads had 
been constructed in the direction of the larger vil- 
lages, and many of these villages had been absorbed 
in the town’s expanding area. Easingholme ■was 
now quite an important municipality, and proudly 
ranked among the populous centers of the king- 


dom, 


John Staincliffe, senior, was the founder of the 
family fortunes. We need go no farther back, for 


( 9 ) 


lO The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

before his time the Staincliffes were nobodies. 1 hey 
lived in small houses ; they were laboring men and 
women ; they were as like their neighbors as the 
members of any family can be like the great mass 
of the people who never rise, but who always re- 
main at the basis of the social fabric. John, the elder, 
aspired to greater things than his forefathers, and con- 
sequently cast about him for a niche in which to fix 
his foot, and take his first step upward. He found 
this niche in association with a confectioner and 
grocer of the town, the leading man in these com- 
bined trades, who wanted special help in his business 
on Saturday afternoons and evenings. The help was 
unstintedly given in return for scanty wages, but 
wages treasured as a welcome addition to his weekly 
earnings in the mill ; and, having an eye to perceive, 
and a brain to plan, John Staincliffe was speedily 
familiar with the combined trades in all their 
details, and able to commence business, in a small 
way, on his own account, and, more than that, to 
make the business pay. 

Work in the mill was abandoned ; a shop with two 
windows, one for each branch of the business, was 
taken in the front street ; a large and freshly painted 
sign, stretching right across the premises, announced, 

CONFECTIONER JOHN STAINCLIFFE FRUITERER. 

The word fruiterer was an advance upon the sign 
of his former employer, who was contented with the 
modest announcement £‘rocer — an indication of the 
young man’s ambition to rise and make his mark in 
the town of Easingholme. 


The Staincliffe Family, 1 1 

Wide-awake John Staincliffe proposed marriage 
to a modest young woman, three years his junior, 
with a zest for work, and a small legacy at her dis- 
posal. She entered heartily into his plans. In the 
earlier years of their married life she was regularly 
seen behind the confectionery counter dispensing the 
tasty articles her own hands had deftly made. Her 
husband carefully extended his connection as a whole- 
sale dealer in the surrounding villages. John Stain- 
cliffe’s name became familiar as a reliable customer, 
in the large distributive market center, where the 
vegetables and fruits of the southern counties con- 
verged into the the hands of salesman, and rarer 
productions of foreign sunny climes could be had 
by those whose purchasers at home were nice in 
taste and rich in pocket. He would only give what 
he thought, and he would only buy what was in de- 
mand, but his money was always sure and timely. 
His word was his bond. He took advantage of 
the introduction of German yeast into the country. 
He went over to Rotterdam, and arranged for an ex- 
clusive supply in his own locality from one of the 
largest firms, and was soon supplying this handy ar- 
ticle to small dealers over a wide area. His profits 
from this source were very large. Rapidly increasing 
wealth caused him to consider the possibility of fresh 
development. He entered upon the manufacture of 
biscuits, and found it to answer well ; then he built 
a place, and bought machinery for the making of 
sugared goods of all kinds, and engaged several artis- 
tic workers from Paris ; and, by the time he was 
sixty 3"ears old, his name was knbwn all over the 


12 


The Pall of the Staincliffes, 

country as a leading man in his own line of biisi^ 
ness, and a possessor of a very substantial fortune. 

John Staincliffe had one son, whom he called after 
himself — John. He gave him an excellent com- 
mercial education, took him into business, and was 
delighted to observe his capacity and skill in every 
department. He had disposed of the retail business, 
and put his capital, and thrown his energies, into 
the two largest industries of fancy sweets and bis- 
cuits, before his son came of age. John, the 
younger, took well hold of both, and was soon as 
well able to manage them as his father. He took a 
more prominent civic position than his father, and 
was closely associated in membership, and by official 
election, with the church whose service his father 
had attended the greater part of his life. His father 
was proud of him, and died all the more peacefully be- 
cause he was leaving behind him a worthy successor 
to his own name, and a thoroughly capable man to 
further develop the business which he had so patient- 
ly and self-denyingly established. 

John Staincliffe, the younger, bought Deerhill 
some time before his father’s death, and brought 
there his wife and three children. When his father 
died, he invited his mother to make her home with 
them, and allowed one of his foremen, Robert 
Cresswell, to occupy the old residence, which was 
not far from the works, at a nominal rental. He 
had connected himself by marriage with one of the 
leading families in the neighorhood. His wife 
had brought him a considerable sum — moreover, she 
was a gentle-spirited women, of refined taste, and 


The Staincliffe Family. 13 

with a deep devotion to her home and family. 

The windows of a spacious sitting-room were 
thrown wide open. The two Mrs. Staincliffes 
were looking out upon the lawn, where a couple of 
girls were practicing tennis in the afternoon sun- 
shine. The elder lady was seated near the open 
windows. She was short and stout, with a round, 
calm, fresh-looking face, whose cheeks had not yet 
lost thei^ color, and hair, smooth and abundant, 
and of that peculiar whiteness suggestive of a de- 
parted dark brown shade. She was plainly dressed 
in black silk, fastened at the neck by a gold 
brooch, which, with a gold watch chain of a tiny 
linked pattern, were her only ornaments, unless her 
delicate lace mob cap could be considered an orna- 
ment as well. She placidly watched the two girls 
tripping across the lawn and swinging their racquets, 
a picture of contentment, and was inwardly thank- 
ful that her old age was a time of peace, 

The younger lady sat well within the room. 
Her fingers were busily employed upon a child’s- 
garment. She lifted her head occasionally to glance 
at her daughters, and smiled at any agile movement 
by which the ball was intercepted, or dextrous blow 
dealt with faultless precision cleverly returning the 
ball to the other side. She was tall and graceful, 
with brown eyes, dark hair, a healthy complexion, 
and a countenance oval and well-formed, but show- 
ing faint traces of approaching age. There was a 
mild look in her eyes which revealed deep sympa- 
thetic possibilities, and awakened trustfulness in 
those who looked upon her, 


14 The Fall of the Staincliffes. 

Presently a lad burst into the room, with school- 
books under his arm, and a cap in his hand — a lad 
of about fourteen years, and pantingly exclaimed, 
flinging down both cap and books, — 

“ Mother ! mother ! ” 

“My dear child ! you shouldn’t run like this,” 
said the mother, putting down her sewing, and 
drawing him near enough to stroke his damp 
hair. “ You may take a bad cold after perspiring 
so.” 

“ Can I go with Tom Cresswell to-night? ” 
Where, dear ? ” 

“To watch the cricketers practice.” 

“Yes, you may go, but we must have tea first.” 
The lad disengaged himself, pleased with his 
mother’s consent, and walked towards the window. 
‘‘You must come back early,” continued his 
mother, but he was watching the girls and did not 
hear her. “Do you hear, Herbert ? ’’she called, 
and, as he turned toward her, “You must come 
back early.” 

“ Yes ! mother ; half-past eight will do, won’t it?” 

“ Don’t be later,” she said, and went out of the 
room to arrange for tea. 

Herbert was about to step out of the window, 
when he seemed to become aware of the presence of 
his grandmother. He checked himself and gave 
her a touch of a kiss on the bright color of her left 
cheek ; she smiled sweetly and he disappeared with 
a bound through the window. The elder of the girls, 
a tall, lithe, dark-complexioned maiden, with a mass 
of dusky curls, darted forward, twisted up her r^Q- 


The Staincliffe Family. 15 

quet, and cleverly tipped the ball across the netting, 
eliciting from her brother the cry, — 

“ Bravo, Lizzie! that w'as well done.” 

Lizzie looked up to answer her brother, the ball 
was back again, she never attempted to strike, and 
there was a triumphant shout from the other side. 

“We’ll give up now. Belle,” she said, quietly ; 
then, with more of interest, “ Are you going to stay 
at home to-night, Bertie?” 

“Not much, thank you!” replied her brother, 
with a mocking bow. 

Where are you going, Bertie?” asked Belle, 
running up, and putting her arm round Lizzie’s 
waist. 

“ To the cricket ground,” said he. 

“Will you take me?” 

“ I have another companion. Belle, and he might 
object, you know. Then ladies don’t generally go 
on practice nights.” 

“Who are you going with?” asked Lizzie. 

“Tom Cresswell?” 

Belle withdrew her arm from Lizzie’s waist, and 
slyly pinched her ; and then, with a clear voice 
breaking into the refrain of “The Blue Alsatian 
Mountains,” she ran indoors. 

Lizzie put her arm through Herbert’s, and 
marched him across the lawn. 

“Tom Cresswell will be leaving college soon, 
won’t he, Herbert?” 

“ At the end of the term.” 

“Has he heard of any opening?” 

“ Yes !” said Herbert. “ He told me to-day that 


1 6 The Fall of the StaincUffes, 

he has the promise of the next vacancy at the Eas- 
ingholme Bank. He has done well at school, and 
old Bond thinks he’ll carve out a good spot for 
himself in time. Hallo ! there’s Scamp,” and he 
pointed to a large tan-and- white collie, at the 
bottom of a plantation, standing on his hind legs, 
with his fore-paws resting on the wall, and looking 
across the road. “ Scamp !” he shouted, and gave a 
shrill whistle ; the dog turned, saw them, and came 
bounding in long leaps toward where they were 
standing. 

When the dog reached them he laid himself down 
on the grass, panting, and looked up at them with 
his large, gentle, inquiring eyes. Lizzie bent down, 
and patted his big head, and the dog returned the 
caress by thrusting his wet, black nose into the 
palm of her hand. 

“ Come, children, don’t you want any tea to-day ?” 
shouted Belle from the sitting-room window ; in re^ 
ply to which the two ran in, with the dog career- 
ing at their heels. 

They made a pretty family group at the tea-table. 
The mother presided. She was attired in a neat, 
close-fitting costume of a very dark red shade, finely 
braided with a very narrow black braid, which 
suited her admirably; and her heavy dark hair was 
smoothed in front, and plaited and coiled behind, 
with the exception of one thick plait that passed 
over the crown. On her right sat the grand- 
mother, and Herbert — a fine lad, with his mother’s 
oval face and regular features; forehead high and 
somewhat narrow, eyes full and dark brown, nose 


The Staincliffe Family, 17 

aquiline, mouth small, with a short upper and a 
slightly pursed under lip, chin rounded, and a com- 
plexion now approaching olive through exposure to 
the summer sun. His head was surmounted by very 
dark hair, inclined to curl, and set upon the neck a 
little too long and showing prominently the shape 
of throat formed by what is commonly known as 
Adam’s apple. Opposite sat the two girls, con- 
trasts, but both attired in white muslin, with sashes, 
Lizzie’s red and Belle’s blue. Lizzie, who faced her 
grandmother, was like Herbert in many particulars. 
The striking differences were in the complexion. 
Lizzie’s having an under-glow of ruddier coloring, 
and in her larger and more compressed mouth and 
squarer chin. Belle was a blonde, with blue eyes 
and irregular dimpled features, and amassoftawny 
hair with a propensity to tangle notwithstanding 
vigorous brushing and confining bands. Lizzie was 
nearly sixteen. Belle only twelve. The father sat 
opposite the mother, a well-built, fresh-complex- 
ioned, light-eyed, brown-whiskered man of forty, 
with a serious aspect dwelling beneath the pleas- 
antry, and ready to show itself as soon as ever the 
breath of joyous conversation ceased to ripple the 
surface of his mind. 

If the spirit of old John Staincliffe could have 
looked into the bright sitting-room, and seen 
his son and son’s family so happily gathered to- 
gether, surely he would have felt that he had not 
labored in vain. The thrill of pleasure which the 
mother felt, and the father’s pardonable pride, when 
they glanced at the handsome boy, might have been 


1 8 The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

shared by the spirit of old John. He was the hope 
of the family. He had not begun at the bottom of 
the ladder, like his grandfather, or a few steps from 
the ground, like his father ; but his feet were already 
well up, and, with a start so favorable, he would 
certainly carry the family fortunes into altitudes of 
commercial and social life, which it was impossible 
for them to reach. He might win high laurels. A 
boy with such a face, and health, education, money, 
the heritage of a flourishing business — what might 
he not do? They thought that the Staincliffe name 
in this, the third generation, would become famous. 


CHAPTER II. 


A BIRTHDAY PRESENT. 


HE boys were assembling in the square of Eas- 



A ingholme College. It wanted yet ten minutes 
to nine o’clock, the time fixed for the commencement 
of the morning lessons. A few were conning over 
the tasks which had been set them on the previous 
Saturday morning, that they might go through a 
semblance of knowing them, if nothing else. A 
cricket ball was being thrown high in the air, across 
the field, and, where the ball fell, several rushed to- 
gether, shouting, with uplifted hands to catch it, 
that the next throw might be theirs. Two boon 
companions, arm-in-arm, earnestly talking on some 
interesting theme, were pacing backwards and for- 
wards in front of the schoolroom windows. A 
group of bigger boys were together in the corner, 
gathered about a newspaper, which one of them 
had pulled from his trousers-pocket, and was dis- 
playing to the rest. By the nodding of his head, 
and the gleaming of his eyes, he was evidently ex- 
plaining with emphasis a paragraph from one of the 
columns. 

“Look here,” said he, “I’ve won him, plain 
enough.” 

“ Where? ” asked several eager voices, while the 
heads bobbed down simultaneously to see the par- 
ticular line pointed out. 


m 


20 


The Fall of the StaincUffes. 

“There!” answered he, putting his finger tri- 
umphantly on the place. “ Nestor stands first, and 
won the race by half a length.” 

Two or three drew a deep breath ; one simple- 
minded lad opened his eyes to their widest extent to 
stare in surprise at the possessor of the paper ; others 
simply looked on, or turned smilingly away. One 
undersized boy, with laughing, mischievous eyes, 
and lips formed to perpetual smiles, twisted quickly 
in front of the simple-minded one, and, suddenly 
leaping up like a Jack-in-the-box, cried — 

“Bo o-oh! wink up you peepers, Joseph, or 
they’ll tumble out, my dear.” 

Joseph started, and the group broke into a sudden 
laugh, which was as suddenly checked by the ap- 
pearance across the square of Herbert Staincliffe. 
Several voices shouted — 

“Bertie!” 

“Well ! what’s the row?” asked Bertie, approach- 
ing them. 

“Oh! nothing particular,” answered he of the 
newspaper, “only you owe me that wager for I’ve 
won the bet.” 

Bertie turned pale at this, and, with trembling 
fingers, took the paper into his hand. He gave it 
back, after reading the result of Templeton Races, 
without a single word. His companions fixed their 
eyes upon his face. 

“Of course, you’ll pay up,” said the winner. 

“Yes!” he replied; “but you can wait for it, I 
suppose.” 

“Until you get your pocket-money from your 


A Birthday Present, 21 

ma/’ said the other mockingly. “N^t so; you’d 
better tip up at once, like a man, or, if you haven’t 
the money, I’ll wait a week till you get it.” 

<‘You know very well, Dick, I can pay you now, 
but I wanted the money for something else to-day.” 

The signal was given for the school to assemble; 
the group broke up and mingled with the others; 
and with a hum, like that of a hive of bees, the 
boys swarmed through the open door, and into the 
schoolroom. Little opportunity was given, during 
the morning lessons, for conversation between Dick 
Pashley and Herbert Staincliffe, but Dick intimated 
many a time, by sundry signs, painfully obtrusive to 
Herbert when the other boys were watching, that 
he should expect him to pay the bet without 
delay 

On the Friday preceding, when the boys were 
gathered in the square at midday, the talk had 
turned upon Templeton Races. Herbert had heard 
the men at the works speaking about the races, 
and had become interested in the event, whetting 
his interest afterwards by carefully examining a 
picture of one of the favorite horses in a copy of a 
leading illustrated paper, taken at home. He was 
fond of horses. The picture was a finely executed 
engraving of a beautiful animal. He very much 
admired it, and read the appreciative comments up- 
on both it and its owner. During the conversation in 
the square, he displayed his knowledge and praised 
the racer; and Dick Pashley said he would bet two 
to one that Nestor,^ a competing rival, and a horse 
that Herbert knew nothing about beyond the mere 


22 


The Fall of the Stainclifes. 

mention of his name by the work-people, would win 
the race. Herbert felt the searching glances of his 
schoolmates. He was not brave enough, by refus- 
ing the bet, and thereby appearing to turn his back 
upon the animal he had praised, to face their 
laughter; and he said, “ Done ! ” They shook hands 
over it, as if they were quite used to transactions of 
that kind, and ready, as a matter of course, to abide 
by the result. 

It was not the first bet that Dick Pashley had 
made. He was the son of the keeper of the Talbot 
Hotel in Talbot Square, and lived, with his father, 
on the premises. His mother was dead. Two of 
his sisters were married, and the third had no con- 
trol over him. His elder brother cared nothing 
about him. He went into every part of the hotel 
and heard the talk of the company. Sporting papers 
were scattered in every room, sporting posters dec- 
orated most of the walls, sporting characters congre- 
gated in the bar; and Dick, nourished on this pabulum 
breathing in this atmosphere, was fast ripening for 
entrance into the sporting fraternity. He had done 
a little private business with the stable-boy, in odd 
small wagers and mostly to his own advantage. Once 
he had ventured a quarter against a similar sum 
of the chamber-maid, but he had lost it. Never 
had he thought of staking a dollar, and, if the 
chances had gone against him, he might not have 
paid it; but when Bertie Stainclifie said what he did 
about Scudaway^ he saw the possibility of a stroke 
of good luck, as he thought, and at once challenged 
him on Nestor's superior merit, having overheard 


A Birthday Present, 23 

a successful book-maker whisper that Nestor was 
sure to win 

Bertie had never bet before, but had heard bet- 
ting transactions talked about among his father’s 
work people. He had greatly admired Scudaway, 
and thought he could not well be beaten. He had 
more money at his disposal than the majority of his 
schoolfellows, and was rather proud of letting 
them know it. So he accepted Dick’s challenge. 
But he was not quite comfortable about it. He felt 
it was not the right thing to do. It spoilt the 
usual enjoyment of his Saturday afternoon, and 
the customary quietude of the Sunday. Then he 
particularly wanted this very money to purchase 
something as a present for Lizzie, whose eighteenth 
birthday was on that day. It was a keen disap- 
pointment to find that he had lost the bet, and that 
his money would disappear into Dick Pashley’s 
greasy pocket. 

The college was not a residential one, or this 
transaction might have come much more readily to 
the professor’s ears, and Herbert’s money been saved. 
It was built in the town, and abutted on one of the 
main roads. The scholars were the boys of the town, 
some of whom had entered by open competition 
from other elementary schools, and were educated 
gratuitously, and others from well-to-do families 
whose parents paid the prescribed fees. The style 
of building, more than the character of the education, 
had given it the name college. It was only a high- 
school, with endowed scholarships for entrance from 
lower local schools, and for exit to any of the Uni- 


24 Fall of the Staincliffes. 

versities, managed by trustees, elected under 
specified conditions, from gentlemen of the neighbor- 
hood. The building, however — a large, stone struct- 
ure, with parapet and central tower, a main entrance 
door of oak ornamented with huge brass nails, and 
windows glazed with small diamond panes, an anti- 
quated-looking building without really being old — • 
had become generally known as the College. 

If the professor had known of the bet between 
the two boys, they would both have been at once, 
and severely, reprimanded. But although the signal- 
ling of Dick Pashley did not escape Professor Bond’s 
keen observation, he could not make out what the 
signalling meant. Messages conveyed across the 
school in this way were not infrequent, and gen- 
erally about some trival school-boy matters beneath 
the dignity of his inquiry and attention. 

When the lessons were over, and the lads 
trooped out, Dick stood in Herbert’s way, and 
said , — 

“ Come, tip up.” 

Herbert pulled out his purse, and drew from an 
inner pocket a bright piece of gold. His underlip 
twitched, and his face paled a little, as, without a 
word, he put the coin into Pashley’s hand. Dick 
rubbed it between his palms, and then dropped it 
carefully into his vest pocket; while Herbert walked 
slowly and sadly away. The little fellow, with the 
laughing, mischievous eyes, and the perennial smile, 
said, — 

“You don’t mean to say you are going to keep it, 
Dick?” 


A Birthday Present, 25 

“Why not?” he asked. 

“Because it isn’t yours.” 

“It is mine. I won it by a fair bet,” Dick re- 
plied. 

“I say, it isn’t yours, and if you keep it you’re a 
mean, shabby fellow,” said the little one, — “and 
what’s more, I don’t think there’s much to choose 
between you and a thief, if you keep it.” 

“Who are you talking to, Harry Clough?” 

“To you, Dick Pashley.” 

“Well! you’d better mind your own busi- 
ness.” 

“And you’d better keep your business down at 
the Talbot, and not bring your knavish tricks into 
the school.” 

Dick was astonished at being tackled in this way 
by little Harry Clough. Harry was a favorite with 
the other boys. They would not see him thrashed. 
Dick knew this, and, therefore, was not inclined to 
push the quarrel too far. And, for the first time, he 
felt a sense of shame in the possession of money 
won by betting, as if, after all, there were some 
truth in Harry’s statement that the money was not 
his own. The fun in Harry’s eyes had become indig- 
nation, and the smile contempt; he was roused by 
the wrong which had been done to Herbert, and he 
did not mean Dick to keep the money without let- 
ting him know what he thought about it. 

The altercation ended with the appearence of the 
under professor, and the boys dispersed and hurried 
away home. Herbert had heard nothing of all this. 
He had walked into the town to luncheon, as his 


26 


The Fall of the Staincliffes. / 

custom was, for, since attending the College, he had 
always gone down to have luncheon with his father 
at the office. When approaching the office he saw 
Tom Cresswell advancing to meet him. Tom had 
been on the look-out for him. For nearly two years 
now he had sat at his desk in Easingholme Bank. 
His punctual habits, careful work, courteous be- 
havior, and sterling honesty had already commended 
him to his employers, and he was marked out for pro- 
motion. A close friendship was still kept up by the 
two boys. They saw each other nearly every day. 
Tom was a finely-built, open-faced, fresh-com- 
plexioned, blue-eyed young fellow, of generous 
disposition, and full of sympathy, and with a 
quick perception of other people’s troubles. 
As he passed his arm through Herbert’s, he 
said — 

“ What’s the matter, old man?” 

Herbert gave him no answer. Tom knew at once 
that something extraordinary had happened. He had 
no idea what it was, and felt some delicacy in press- 
ing Herbert to tell him. So turning abruptly to an- 
other matter, he said, — 

“ It’s Lizzie’s birthday, is it not, Herbert?” 

“Yes.” 

“ I want you to take her a present from me when 
you go home this afternoon.” 

“ It’s very kind of you, Tom. What is it?” asked 
Herbert, forgetting somewhat his depression in the 
interest aroused by Tom’s present. 

“A cabinet for dried ferns,” answered Tom. “I 
have made it mostly myself. I have had the mahog- 


A Birthday Present. 


27 


any polished, and the little brass knobs turned and 
fitted to the drawers, but it is mostly my own work- 
manship.’’ 

“Just the very thing she wanted, Tom. I’ve 
heard her say she would like one many a time.” 
Then after a pause, he added, regretfully, “I wish 
I could get her something as nice !” 

“You will get her something, of course, Herbert. 
What have you thought about?” 

“Its no use thinking. I’m hard up.” 

“No!” said Tom, laughing. 

“I am, Tom. I’ve lost every blessed penny I had 
on the Templeton Races.” 

Tom jerked his arm away, and stood stock still, 
his eyes fixed on Herbert’s face in blank amaze- 
ment. When he could find words, he said, — 

“ What do you mean?” 

“ You needn’t look at me as if I were a ghost, and 
in the public street, too. Come along. I’ll tell you,” 
and he passed his arm through Tom’s and they 
turned down a quieter way, Herbert explained the 
whole affair. Tom was relieved as the story pro- 
ceeded, and, when the end came, he said, — 

“You’ll never be so foolish as to bet again, 
Herbert?” 

“ I haven’t thought about that. I wouldn’t have 
cared a rap if I hadn’t spent my money two weeks 
since on that new bicycle. It was my last dollar, 
and I was keeping it for Lizzie.” 

“Then you think more about the disappointment 
at not being able to buy Lizzie a present than the 
wrong you have been doing in betting the money ?” 


28 


The Fall of the Staincliffes. 

‘‘Wrong! What wrong is there in the thing it* 
self? That’s one of your fads, Tom. I was silly 
for staking all the coin I had, but as for the wrong 
of it — ! I never bet before, certainly, but I never 
thought it was wrong to bet.” 

“ I hope you will think so, Herbert. However, it’s 
Lizzie’s birthday, and she will expect a present from 
you. She won’t expect one from me^' said Tom, 
slowly and thoughtfully, “and I would like you, 
Herbert, to accept my fern cabinet — to accept it as 
your own,” the words came incisively, “and make a 
present of it to Lizzie in your own name. Remem- 
ber ! I give it you. It’s yours. And my name is 
not mentioned to Lizzie at all.” 

“ But, Tom ” 

“ Never you mind about Tom. Leave him alone.” 

“It wouldn’t be fair, you know. You would 
have to suffer for my foolishness.” 

“ I had very much rather you had something to 
give to Lizzie. It doesn’t matter about me. You 
are her brother, and her only brother, and I would 
not like her to be disappointed at not receiving any- 
thing from you. Then Belle wouldn’t rest until she 
had found out why you were without money, and 
that would grieve them all. Come now, old boy, 
take it, and pass it on to Lizzie. She will get it all 
the same, and it was made for her.” 

“ Well! if you will have it so,” said Herbert, 
and both their faces brightened as the conver- 
sation turned into another channel. 

When afternoon school was over, Herbert called 
at Tom’s home for the cabinet It was beautifully 


A Birthday Present. 


29 


made. When he placed it in Lizzie’s room, and 
asked her to accept it, with his love, her eyes 
beamed with delight, and she kissed him. Neither 
Lizzie’s beaming eyes nor joyous kiss gave him the 
satisfaction that he expected. Belle called him a 
“model brother,” but he felt an irony in the words 
that was not intended. His mother thanked him 
for his thoughtfulness in obtaining a present so much 
to Lizzie’s wish, but while the thanks were spoken 
he was ill-at-ease. There was a shadow across the 
sunshine that streamed upon him from every side — 
the shadow of himself— -and it was a very black 
shadow indeed. 

Next morning Lizzie received by post a large, thin 
package, which, on being opened, was found to con- 
tain two splendid specimens of ferns, dried and 
mounted, one a rare Adiantum Farleyense.^ the 
other a perfect Osmunda regalis. After being 
much admired they were placed carefully away in 
the new cabinet. The package also contained a 
brief note of apology for the late arrival of the ferns, 
and the best wishes of the sender that her life might 
be a useful and happy one. The note was read often, 
and with a scrupulous observance of every detail in 
the handwriting — an attention which its brevity 
and homeliness did not seem to warrant — and was 
then folded and put away among other scraps 
of paper in the secret drawer of Lizzie’s writing- 

desk. 


CHAPTER III. 


A DISMISSAL. 


HIS threatens to be a serious matter at the 



I College, Louey,” said John Staincliffe to his 
wife, a few mornings after Lizzie’s birthday. 
“Bond writes me to say that he will have to make 
an example of both boys,” and he handed a letter 
which he had just opened and read to his wife for 
her perusal. After she had read it, and handed the let- 
ter back with a troubled countenance, he continued, 
“I think Dick Pashley was more to blame than 
Herbert. He made the bet. Herbert was drawn on to 
take it, and I am glad he lost his money. It may 
teach him a lesson ! ” 

The wife was silent. 

“ Bond seems to me to be making more fuss about 
it than he has any occasion to do. I cannot see the 
wrong in it which he seems to see. Of course, he 
must keep up the reputation of the school, and 
check any tendency to gambling severely and 
effectually, as he says. But this is a first offence, 
and I do not care for Herbert to be exposed as a cuL 
prit before the whole school, and have his name 
handed about the town as a gambler.” 

“It wouldn’t be, dear, would it? Mr. Bond 
wouldn’t do anything to cause a public talk about 
the matter. And Herbert really is to blame, and 
pught in some way to be punished for it.” 


A Dismissal. 


31 


‘‘One would think he had been punished enough 
by the loss of his money,” returned Mr. Stain- 
cliffe. “That young scamp of a Pashley, who 
won it and kept it, deserves punishment, but Herbe:t 
might be let alone now. Then if Bond brings them 
before the whole school, he cannot prevent the mat- 
ter becoming common talk in the town.” 

“ Herbert does not seem so sorry about it as I 
thought he would be,” said Mrs. Staincliffe. “I 
should be glad if Mr. Bond could in any way im- 
press him with the evil of gambling.” 

“The loss of the money will impress him enough, 
depend upon it. Herbert was to leave College at 
the end of the term, and come to business. He 
might as well come at once, and it will finish this 
affair. I’ll write Bond this morning, and tell him 
that I have decided to take Herbert at once into 
the office, and that he will not be going to the 
College again,” and having settled the matter in his 
own mind, he began to think about a new feature 
in his business which he intended to mention to his 
foreman for the first time that morning. 

Herbert was quite satisfied with his father’s deci- 
sion. He had been pleasurably anticipating the 
close of the term, and his introduction to business; 
and he was very thankful that his College days had 
been prematurely ended by the betting affair, and the 
threatened punishment averted, although the pun- 
ishment to him was a far less serious matter than to 
his father. In conversation with him, his father had 
told him that he might take a month’s holiday before 
commencing work in the office, By the time break- 


32 The Fall of the Stalncliffes, 

fast was over, he had planned a bicycle ride to Duns- 
ford, where Aunt Ellen, his mother’s sister lived; 
and, cheerfully whistling, he rubbed up his ma- 
chine, and prepared for a morning’s run as a little 
preliminary exercise. Scamp wistfully watched the 
rubbing process, and wondered whether he should 
be invited to join the wheels. 

“ Do you want to go with me. Scamp?” 

The brown eyes filled with light, and the brushy 
tail swept the floor. 

“ Do you think you could manage ten miles?” 

The forepaws were lifted from the floor alter^ 
nately in rapid succession, and the black nose was 
pushed towards the wheels to sniff at their capa- 
bility for the journey. 

“Will you take good care of me while I’m 
away?” 

Scamp jumped up, and trotted round his master 
and the machine, and then sat down again, as if he 
had said, <‘That circle is a charmed one, which no- 
body dare break through while I am near.” 

The heir of Deerhill was soon wheeling down the 
drive towards the highroad in the valley, and the 
dog was bounding after him in the greatest glee. 

John Staincliffe drove to the works that morning 
in a meditative mood. He was a little uncertain as 
to how his foreman would receive his new proposal. 
He knew the worth of Robert Cresswell, and did 
not like to contemplate the possibility of losing him. 
He had been in his employ, and that of his father, 
for twenty-three years, and a more faithful servant 
never worked for any firm, He was a scrupulously 


A DismissaU 


33 


conscientious man, with a puritanical cast of char- 
acter, rendering exact service to his master, and re- 
quiring exact service from the men under his charge. 
Naturally upright in heart, he had found both root 
and nourishment for his integrity in the stricter 
forms of Methodist discipline ; and it was this well- 
known trait of his foieman’s character which made 
John Staincliffe doubtful about his favoiable recep- 
tion of the new proposal. 

When the business correspondence had been at- 
tended to, he summoned Robert Cresswell to an 
interview in the private office. The foreman 
entered — a man of medium height, with a bald head, 
a round face scored with deep lines, firm lips, and 
deep-set penetrative grey eyes — a man whose counte- 
nance was the imprint of the force of his character. 

“Good-morning, Robert,” said the master. 

“ Good-morning, sir.” 

“You will have noticed a slight falling off in our 
smaller articles during the past few months.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Now that is a part of our trade that pays very 
well, and 1 should like to give it a fillip. One or 
two other firms have taken the lead in prin- 
ciple, but I think we may beat them in design. In 
these smaller articles, purchased mostly by children, 
the point is to excite the children’s curiosity, and lo 
persuade them to buy on the chance of finding in 
the article what may, or may not, be there.” The 
foreman raised his head a trifie, and looked at his 
master out of the corner of his eyes. “ I have 
thought that we might make up something in the 


34 The Fall of the Stalncliffes, 

form of a purse, — Dupcn could design it, — and 
place a trinket of some kind, so as to prevent disap- 
pointment altogether, in each one, with a penny 
say in every hundred, a nickel in every five hun- 
dred, and a dime in every thousand.” The fore- 
man’s eyes gleamed strangely and his lips set- 
tled into firmer lines. “We could use new coins 
for the purpose,” continued the master, “ which 
would give the children greater pleasure, and the 
finding of the coins by the lucky purchasers would 
help the sale enormously. What do you think 
about it?” 

“ That it won't do.” 

“ Won’t do! Why?” 

“ Because it isn’t honest.” 

“ How do you make that out, Robert?” 

“This way. A child buys a purse, opens it, and 
there’s nothing in it but a bead ring. The whole 
thing isn’t worth a tenth part of what he has given 
for it. Another child buys a purse, opens it, and 
finds a dime. The article is worth ten times more 
than he has given for it, and the purse into the 
bargain. Now, to give him his dime you rob 
nearly a thousand others, and put a substantial 
part of the robbery into your own pocket. That part 
you call profit, but it is not the result of legitimate 
trading. You wrong the children who receive no 
coin, you wrong the child to whom you give more 
than he is entitled to, and you wrong yourself by 
getting gain in a deceitful way. No, sir ; it isn’t 
honest.” 

“ I ought to be the best judge of what is right and 


A Dismissal, 


35 

wrong in the conducting of my own business,” said 
Mr. Staincliffe sharply. 

“You asked me how I made it out, sir, and I tried 
to tell you.” 

“Well! I’ve made up my mind to introduce 
something of the kind into the business, and I shall 
expect you to give the matter your careful super- 
vision, Robert.” 

“The business has been built up by fair work and 
honest trade, and you will not maintain it by turn- 
ing it into a lottery, sir,” remarked the foreman, 
looking his master full in the face. 

“I did not ask you about the maintenance of the 
business. I said I should expect you to attend to my 
orders,” returned Mr. Staincliffe warmly. 

“ If your orders are right, sir, I shall have pleas- 
ure in doing so ; but if wrong, I cannot.” 

“ You mean that you will not carry out my new 
scheme,” said Mr. Staincliffe, with a pale face, and 
speaking in suppressed excitement. 

“ If your new scheme is the one you proposed just 
now, I will not,” answered the foreman, slowly and 
steadily, with his face fixed and calm. 

“Then of course, we must part.” 

“ We must, if you persist in introducing a bad 
principle like that into your business. I am willing 
to serve you, sir, as I have served your father, as faith- 
fully as I can, with a good conscience, but I will not 
sear my conscience for any man.” 

“You have a very high way of talking about 
matters like these, Robert,” said Mr. Staincliffe, 
cooling a little. “ You are altogether too fastidious. 


36 The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

It is not a gravely moral question like you suppose 
it to be, but a mere stroke of business policy. I do 
not want to part with an old servant like you. I 
w^ould rather keep you a hundred times. Take till 
to-morrow to think about it, and let me know then.’ 

“ I shall think to-morrow as I think to-day. 
Policy in business is to me either right or wrong, 
and never mere policy. If you are determined to do 
this, I cannot remain, and so, sir, there is no need 
to wait.” 

“ All right,” snapped out Mr. Staincliffe, again 
pale and excited. “You can go. I shall want the 
house for your successor, but we can arrange that 
afterwards. A week from now you may consider 
yourself at liberty.” 

“Let me say, sir, that I think you are making a 
serious mistake, and that you will live to very deeply 
regret this day,” and Robert Cressw'ell walked from 
the private office only to enter it once again. 

With a sad heart at noon, he told his wife and son 
what had happened. They were both grieved at 
the dismissal. It had come so unexpectedly that they 
knew not what to say. When the first surprise 
was over, Mrs. Cresswell said, — 

“Never mind, Robert. You have done right, and 
you need not fear the consequences. If we have to 
suffer, we can suffer. You may not obtain another 
situation readily at your age, and it will be a trial to 
leave this home, where we have been happy and 
comfortable, and thought to stay yet for many years, 
but the Lord will provide.” 

“ It might have been worse, too, father,” said 


A Dismissal. 


37 


Tom. “I shall step into the vacancy left by Harri- 
son’s removal next week, and my salary will be in- 
creased. It’s come just at the right time, hasn’t 
it.? ” 

“ I am very sorry,” the father said, “but lam more 
sorry for Mr. Staincliffe than I am for myself. I 
thought he had more moral perception. Old John 
wouldn’t have done it. He was not so closely 
allied to the church as young John, but he was a 
man of firmer and steadier will. Perhaps Mr. Stain- 
cliffe will see his mistake, and keep the business 
sound after all ; but I am afraid he has become too 
much captivated lately by the desire for riches, and 
committed his heart, as well as his mind, to this 
new scheme.” 

That afternoon, when Robert Cresswell and his 
son were busy at their separate employments, a wo- 
man’s voice, low and ardent, was secretly breathing 
out heartfelt gratitude for a husband’s courage and a 
son’s cheerfulness, and pleading for guidance in 
the shadows which were closing about them, that 
through the shadows they might come forth into 
clearer light. Lower yet and more ardent was the 
voice when it made mention of one round whom 
darker shadows still — shadows of a different and 
more fatal kind — were threatening to gather, and, 
with intense fervor she asked that the Sun of Right- 
eousness might scatter the shadows, ere they could 
dim, beyond recovery, the vision of the soul. 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE ACCIDENT. 


R. STAINCLIFFE was driving home, ab- 



^ I sorbed with his own thoughts^ and allowing 
Juno, the bay mare, to take her own pace along the 
country lane, and around the bend of the avenue, 
toward Deerhill. Easingholme was hidden from 
view by a great shoulder of partially wooded land, 
and the lovely valley that stretched before the driver 
was so Arcadian that the busy town might have 
been a hundred miles away. Through the trees, 
here and there, glimpses of the house could be 
caught — a house of stone, low and large, with mul- 
lioned windows and capacious doorway, a terraced 
lawn in front and a mass of magnificent foliage 
on the rising slope behind — a house once inhabited 
by a titled family, but now, with its small, but 
choice estate, in the possession of John StainclifTe. 

Often, when driving home, had he viewed it with 
pride, and dreamed pleasant dreams about its future 
in connection with his son and heir. But on this 
particular evening he never once lifted his eyes to 
look at it. The sun was sinking in a glow of 
amber ; and a soft, yellow haze was creeping about 
the trees, changing the green to gold, and melting 
their outlines in its mellow radiance. The air was 
still. The twitter of the birds, the pat, pat, pat of 


( 38 ) 


The Accident. 


39 


the horse’s feet, and the rattle of the wheels only ac- 
centuated the silence. Nature was in one of her 
tranquil moods. But John Staincliffe was too much 
occupied with his own thoughts to feel the sooth- 
ing influence of his surroundings. The dismissal of 
Robert Cresswell troubled him. He looked vacantly 
between Juno’s ears ; he held the reins loosely in his 
hands ; and the mare trotted briskly over the ground, 
with her nose and her thoughts in the same direction 
— toward the stable. 

When round the bend of the avenue, and near 
where a narrow lane ran into the broader way, a dog 
sprang barking toward Juno, causing her to lift and 
shake her head, and her master instinctively to 
tighten the reins, and pull himself together. 

“What is the matter. Scamp?” he called out. 
“Come, clear the way.” 

But the dog had no such intention. He barked 
louder, jumped at Juno’s nose, and made her shake 
her head more violently, and lift her feet higher to 
strike him. This was unusual conduct for Scamp. 
He was a very quiet dog, seldom barking except 
when chained or suddenly startled in any way. Mr. 
Stainclifle began to suspect that something was the 
matter. He stopped Juno, and commenced question- 
ing the dog. 

“ Well ! what is it, Scamp? ” 

The dog ran toward the narrow lane, stopping 
at the corner, and wagging his tail, as if inviting 
Mr. Stainclifle to follow. When Mr. Staincliffe 
reached the place the dog went down the lane. He 
looked back to see whether he was still being fol- 


40 The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

lowed, and, finding he was not, he ran to the trap 
again, and barked as before. Mr. Staincliffe de- 
scended, tied Juno to a fence, and, with the dog 
capering before him, went down the lane for about 
a quarter of a mile, when the dog bounded away 
and disappeared round a sharp curve. Mr. Stain- 
cliffe came round the curve, and saw a bicycle 
broken in the road, and a lad laid on a heap of 
stones. He did not realize that the lad was Herbert 
until he noticed that Scamp was lying beside him, and 
licking his hands ; then he ran to him, bent over him, 
and anxiously asked, — 

“What has happened, Herbert?” 

“ I’ve had a spill, father,” said Herbert, turning 
a pale face toward him with a reddened scar on 
the cheek bone where he had struck the ground. 

“ Are you much hurt, my boy ? ” 

I cannot tell. There’s something amiss with 
my shoulder. I cannot raise myself without pain. 
But my legs and arms are all right. ” 

“Let me see if I can move you to an easier 
place,” said the father. “ Which shoulder is it that 
hurts you?” And, having ascertained that it was 
the left, he placed the palm of his hand carefully 
under it, and, lifting him with his other arm, laid 
him gently down upon a grassy mound close by. 
Herbert’s face blanched with pain while he was be- 
ing lifted, but he bravely forbore crying out, and, 
after he was settled on the mound, he said, — 

“Thank you. That’s better. How will you get 
me home, father?” 

“We’ll manage that,” he replied. “ The trap is 


The Accident. 


41 


at the end of the lane. I was driving home when 
Scamp stopped me. How long have you been 
here?” 

“ Not very long, I think ; but the fall stunned me, 
and I must have been a little while coming to my- 
self. Scamp was licking my face, and he lay beside 
me^ until, I suppose, he heard the wheels of the trap 
in the road.” 

“Hedl keep guard now, while I fetch the trap; 
won’t you, Scamp?” said Mr. Staincliffe, patting the 
dog’s large head. The dog held up his forepaw to 
shake hands, and then trotted round Herbert, and 
settled down close beside him. Herbert la^d his arm 
across the dog, and smiled. 

The father was soon back again, and, before long, 
Herbert was laid in his own bedroom at home. The 
doctor found that he had broken his collar-bone. 
He was confined to his bedroom for several weeks, 
and, when sufficiently recovered to bear the journey, 
he was taken down to Dunsford to Aunt Ellen’s for 
rest and change. 

The accident had put out of the father’s mind the 
trouble at the works, and Robert Cresswell’s dis- 
missal did not occur to him again until the follow- 
ing day. But for the accident he might have men- 
tioned the matter to his wife, although he seldom 
said anything to her about business affairs. He 
thought it was useless either to inform or to consult 
his wife concerning what happened at the works. 
Robert Cresswell, however, was well known to her, 
and she had a kindly regard for him. She would 
be sure to hear of his dismissal, and would want 


42 The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

to know how it had come about. Mr. Staincliffe would 
have mentioned it on the morrow when it did occur 
to him but it was a distasteful task, and he was not 
quite comfortable in his own mind about it. So he 
allowed the day to slip by, and several days, without 
referring to it, until the following Tuesday, and 
then, in the evening, when they were alone, 
Mrs. Staincliffe said, — 

“John ! you didn’t tell me that Robert Cresswell 
had left the works ? ” 

“ No, Louey. I didn’t wish to trouble you about it.” 

“ Why has he left.^” 

“ Because he wouldn’t obey orders.” 

“That is unlike Robert. Is it the first time he 
has refused to carry out your instructions ? ” 

“ Yes ! but who told you about it, Louey? ” 

“ Lizzie.” 

“ And how did Lizzie hear? ” 

“ From Tom Cresswell. Lizzie saw Tom on 
Sunday afternoon, when she was returning from 
school, and somehow Tom mentioned his regret at 
leaving the old home where he was born. Lizzie 
was surprised, and asked him why he was leaving, 
and he told her because his father had left the 
works.” 

“ Did Tom say he had left the works?” 

“ I think so. That was what Lizzie said to me. 
Didn’t he leave?” 

“No! he was dismissed.” 

“Dismissed, John!” exclaimed Mrs. Staincliffe. 
“Then you sent him away. Was it so serious as 
that?” 


The Accident, 


43 


“Yes, Louey. I wouldn’t have parted with 
him if it had been a trifling affair. But when 
he charged me with dishonesty, and told me he 
wouldn’t do what I desired, I had no alterna- 
tive.” 

And what was it about, John?” asked Mrs. 
Stainclifle in surprise. 

“About the development of a particular part of the 
business on new lines which he considered were not 
right, and which he, therefore, refused to attend 
to.” 

“Then it was a matter of conscience with him?” 

“ I suppose it was. But his conscience ought not 
to control the whole business. I have a conscience, 
too.” 

“What are these new lines, John?” 

“ I don’t care to bother you with them, Louey.” 

“It will not bother me as much to know them as 
to be ignorant of them. You know I think 
highly of Robert Cress well, and am sorry you have 
had occasion to part with him.” 

“ Well, if you will know, I intend having a num- 
ber of small coins put into sugared goods, children’s 
goods, to induce them to buy — two or three coins 
into every thousand, or so; and Cresswell calls it 
dishonest, and I don’t know what beside. He seems 
to regard it as a species of gambling. I think he 
did call it a lottery, and he blankly refused to obey 
my instructions, and superintend the work.” 

Mrs. Stainclifle w^as quiet for a few minutes. 
She was evidently thinking the matter over. Hef 
face became more serious as she said , — 


44 Fall of the Staincliffes. 

“Are you quite sure, dear, that Robert was not 
right? Don’t you think he may have had good 
reasons for his refusal?” 

John Staincliffe looked steadily at his wife, and 
then said, “Louey, business is business. A man 
must do as other people do. He cannot be squeam- 
ish about trifles. And if his servants are not un- 
der command, if they will not do as he desires, he 
must get other servants that will, or else see his 
business decline. I regret very much having to part 
with Robert Cresswell after his long and diligent 
service, and all the more because he was a man my 
father trusted; but if he wouldn’t do as I bid him, 
I couldn’t do with him in my employ. We’d bet- 
ter let the subject drop,” and he burled his face 
in the evening paper. 

Mrs. Staincliffe did not refer to the matter again. 
She was troubled about it for a few days, but 
thought there might be something more in it than 
what had been explained to her. She almost forgot 
it in her attentive care for the welfare of her son. 
Herbert got downstairs again, and she went with 
him to Dunsford, remaining two weeks with her 
sister. When she came back, Lizzie and Isabel 
joined their brother for another two weeks before 
his return home. 

Ellen Fairfax was Mrs. Staincliffe’s eldest sister. 
She had married somewhat late in life a widower of 
the quiet market town of Dunsford, who had retired 
upon a comfortable competency made out of an old 
established business as a manufacturing chemist. 
He had one daughter, Catherine, by a former wife, 


The Accident, 


45 


and she and Mrs. Fairfax lived together. Upon his 
death he had left them the larger part of his for- 
tune. Mrs. Fairfax was a cheery woman, small 
and prim, more rounded in feature than Mrs. Stain- 
cliffe, though of the same complexion and with the 
same family likeness. Cousin Kate was a fine, tall 
girl, with large blue eyes and abundant light hair, a 
blonde complexion, regular features, with a some- 
what large nose and chin, and an abandon of man- 
ner to most people very attractive. 

'‘I’m heartily glad you girls have come down,’’ 
said Herbert. “Kate has nearly talked me to death. 
I shall have a chance of recovery now that I am 
only one of three.” 

“Herbert! how can you say so!” said Kate. 
“You’ve been as garrulous as a magpie yourself ever 
since you came. I shouldn’t have talked half as 
much if you hadn’t made me.” 

“No ! Herbert, my boy,” said Belle, sitting beside 
him, and drawing his head down on her shoulder. 
“You've simply jumped out of a warm frying-pan 
into a very hot fire. You are not one of three, 
but one against three, for I can talk, and Lizzie can 
talk, and if we both help Kate, there is no 
hope for you at all. You’ll simply have to make 
a decent quietus, and vanish from this mortal 
sphere.” 

Quietus ^ Belle! what words you do use!” Liz- 
zie exclaimed. “Who is your authority for that 
word ?” 

“William Shakespeare, my dear, the great master 
of our tongue,” said Belle. 


46 The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

“ I wish he were living now, and would master 
yours, Belle,” Herbert said; “but I am afraid it 
would be too great a task even for him. Come, let 
us go out a little. What do you say to a pull on the 
river?” 

“Jolly! but you cannot pull,” said Belle. “You’ll 
pull your collar-bone in two if you try.” 

“Don’t you know, Belle, that the knitted part of 
a bone is stronger than any other part of it?” said 
Herbert. 

“No, doctor; I was not aware of that interesting 
anatomical fact, but I will bear it in mind. Still, 
you must wait until the knitting is really done, and 
not strain it too soon. It wouldn’t do for you to 
pull, Herbert, you know it wouldn’t, so what is the 
use talking about the river.” 

“Plenty,” responded Herbert. “I couldn’t pull 
very well yet, that’s a fact, but Cousin Kate can 
handle a pair of oars splendidly. We have had many 
a turn on the river. And with you and Lizzie to 
help her, and me to command, we ought to spin 
along like the Sultan’s caique, or the City of 
Parish 

They went down to the river, and were soon glid- 
ing smoothly over its placid surface. Herbert fixed 
his eyes on Kate, and talked mostly with her. They 
had become quite familiar in the two weeks Herbert 
had spent at Dunsford. She was very free with him, 
treating him in an easy, sisterly fashion, much as 
Belle herself did at home; and Herbert was drawn 
toward her, and found her company very agreeable. 
They had necessarily been much together in the two 


The Accident. 


47 


weeks, for they were the only two young people in 
the house, and the mother and aunt had left them 
largely to themselves. 



“ Don’t you feel lonely here, sometimes, Kate?” 
asked Herbert. 

“Awfully.” 

“ Then why don’t you come oftener to Deer- 
hill?” 

“ Yes ! ” chimed in Herbert’s sisters. “ You don’t 
often come, Kate,” said Lizzie. “And we should 
be so glad to have you,” said Belle, “to keep us 
alive a bit.” 

“ I should think the others will be kept very 


48 


The Fall of the Staincliffcs. 

much alive by you, Belle,” answered Kate. ‘‘But I 
should like to come if mother would let me.” 

“We’ll manage Aunt Ellen, Kate,” said Belle, 
twisting her oar out of the river with an awkward 
jerk which sent the water splashing over her 
brother. 

“Here, Belle, what do you call this? I shall be 
drowned soon,” Herbert called out. 

“I call it feathering,” answered Belle. “What 
do you call it?” 

“Hydropathic treatment of a not very acceptable 
kind,” said Herbert. Then, turning to Kate, “Shall 
we go down as far as the bridge, Kate?” 

“ Yes ! if it is not too far,” answered Kate. 

“Oh ! it’s not too far. There’s the tiniest little 
chapel down there, girls, right on the bridge, 
carved all over, and covered with images. It was 
built centuries ago to commemorate some battle dur- 
ing the Wars of the Roses. We can go down and 
send the boat back, if you like, and return through 
the town.” 

They agreed upon this course, and Kate bent to the 
oars, and pulled with her long arms, sending the 
boat, helped already by the current, sweeping along. 
They soon reached the bridge, and arranged for the 
return of the boat; then inspected the little chapel, 
and started through the town. Herbert slipped his 
arm through Kate’s, and they sauntered along, 
keeping ahead of the two sisters, who were taken up 
with the shop windows, and it was late when they 
reached home. 

Another two weeks passed pleasantly away. The 


The Accident. 


49 


girls were very happy, and Herbert began to think 
it was worth breaking a bone to spend a month 
with Cousin Kate. When the time for returning 
drew near, they all three besieged Aunt Ellen and 
made her promise that Kate should spend a few 
weeks with them in the autumn; and they went 
home in better health and spirits for their sojourn 
at Dunsford, and joyously anticipating a renewal of 
their friendship when Kate came to Deerhill. 


CHAPTER V. 


TEMPTATION, 


ERBERT was soon fairly started in business life. 



^ * His father did not confine him to the routine 
of office work, but allowed him to familiarize him- 
self with every department. He went through the 
whole premises, consulting his father and the vari- 
ous foremen on matters which he did not understand 
and, without subjecting himself to the toil of every de- 
paitment, obtained an insight into their working. 
The main part of his time, however, was spent in 
the office, where a desk was provided for him, with- 
in an enclosure, next to the private apartment of 
his father. 

There were five clerks in the office, two married 
men, two single men, and a boy. One of the mar- 
ried men acted as cashier. The two younger men 
worked near the partition of Herbert’s enclosure. 
With these he became more familiar than with the 
others, partly because of their proximity, and 
partly because one of them, Solomon Dempster, 
assiduously cultivated his acquaintance in many 
insinuating ways. 

When Friday evening came, Herbert stood by 
Dempster’s desk watching the cashier pay the 
workpeople. They filed past, men and women, 
giving in their names at a small window, and receiv- 


Temptation. 


51 


ing their wages. Herbert could see into the street, 
and he watched many of the workpeople form 
themselves into groups, and pass part of their 
money from hand to hand. He called Dempster’s 
attention to this, and said, 

“ What does it mean.f^” 

“They’re only straightening off for last week’s 
races,” said Dempster. ^ 

“Is it a regular thing?” asked Herbert. 

“Yes!” 

‘‘And so common among the workpeople that the 
women bet, too?” 

“Yes! It wasn’t allowed when Cresswell was 
head-foreman, but it was done then often enough on 
the quiet. Now^ he’s gone nobody interferes. I do it 
myself,” said Dempster. “ I’ve ten shillings to draw 
to-day on the steeplechase of last Saturday, and I 
shall venture ten to-morrow on the football match 
for the county cup tie” 

“ Do you think betting is as common in the other 
factories of the town as it is here?” asked Herbert. 

“Bless you ! here we are moderate. That straight- 
laced, faddy Methodist of a Cresswell, who was 
turned off by your father because he thought the sale 
of the new purses was a species of gambling, 
checked it here; and there are men and women about 
the place yet too much like him for much money to 
be turned over here. It’s a pity he didn’t take 
himself, and his canting Methodism, away long 
ago.” 

Herbert said nothing in reply to these abusive 
remarks on Robert Cresswell He watched the 


52 The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

groups outside, and particularly noticed the eager 
faces of the women, until the crowd had melted 
away, and everything was quiet. He then retired to 
his own desk, and Dempster thrust his tongue into 
his cheek, and winked at the partition that divided 
them. 

The next Monday morning, while Herbert was 
at his desk writing a letter, he heard the rustle 
of a newspaper behind the partition, and the 
voices of Dempster and his fellow clerk, Twoose, 
engaged in a whispered conversation. He soon 
found that they were discussing the result of Sat- 
urday’s football match, and that Dempster had 
lost his money. His father came out of the pri- 
vate office, and the newspaper was quickly folded 
and put away. The cashier, and Mr. Bonny, 
the senior clerk, were both out, and when his father 
disappeared the newspaper was brought out and un- 
folded again. Lower whispers were indulged in , the 
words of which Herbert cculd not catch, and then 
Twoose ordered the office boy to go into the works 
and bring him particulars about certain goods that 
were being despatched that morning. As soon as he 
was gone, Dempster said, — 

“Mr. Herbert, would you like to see the paper 
this morning?” 

Herbert appeared, and spreading his hand over 
the paper to smooth it out, said, “ What’s the 
news?” 

“ You know that Oxenthorpe was beaten on Sat- 
urday.” 

“ Yes; and you lost your ten shillings,” 


Temptation. 53 

“1 did. But what of that? I’ve lost many a ten 
before, and shall again.” 

“And win many a ten, too, Dempster ; aye ?” 
said Twoose. 

“ Of course. It wouldn’t do always to lose,” said 
Dempster. 

“ Are you going in for anything on Wednesday 
asked Twoose. 

Rather. I shall back Sirius^'' he replied. 

“ To what extent ?” 

Five to one.” 

“ I’ll take you, and we’ll make it sovereigns.” 

Right,” said Dempster, and whipping out a lit- 
tle pocket-book, he entered the bet. 

“ What is there on Wednesday .^” asked Herbert. 

“ The challenge cup at Dunsford races,” said 
Twoose, pointing to a column in the newspaper. 

“ Read it. Six entries. The Duke of Bixterfield’s 
Sirius runs for the first time. He’s a choice steed, 
splendidly bred, a general favorite, and it is supposed 
he will take all before him. But I have my doubts 
about him. There’s a jockey riding in that race 
who will not come in second if he can help it.” 

Herbert glanced at the paper. 

“ And who is your winning jockey, Twoose ?” 
asked Dempster. 

“ He’s the man that rides Tara7ttella. She’s the 
one for my mone}^” answered Twoose. 

‘‘ We shall see,” said Dempster. “But I shall not 
be far out whichever wins. I shall venture on 
Tarantella. She’ll come in a good second, but Sirius 
will win. You should back Sirius y Mr. Herbert.” 


54 The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

“ 1 haven’t thought of backing any,” said Her- 
bert. 

“ Haven’t you ?” said Dempster, in affected sur- 
prise. 

“ No ! but I’ll put a sovereign on Tarantella 
against your five,” said Herbert. 

W ell!” said Dempster, with some hesita- 

tion, “if Twoose will relinquish his bet in your 
favor, I’m willing, but I am hardly at liberty to take 
you both. What do you say, Twoose?” 

“ It’ll do for me,” said Twoose, “ if Mr. Herbert 
wishes it.” 

So the little pocket-book was whipped out 
again and the entry altered. 

On Thursday morning Herbert picked up the 
paper in the breakfast-room at Deerhill, and found 
that the challenge cup had been won by Tarantella, 
When he arrived at the office a sealed envelope lay 
on his desk awaiting him. It contained a line from 
Dempster, congratulating him on his good luck, and 
a five pound note. He placed the note in his purse, 
not feeling quite satisfied, and yet elated with suc- 
cess. 

This was the commencement of many similar 
transactions between Herbert and Dempster, for 
Twoose took only a secondary part, and was em- 
ployed by Dempster as a foil in tempting Herbert 
to venture larger and larger stakes. Herbert was 
cautious, however. He was unwilling to be drawn 
into a regular course of betting, and particularly 
when he noticed that, in the long run, his losses 
were heavier than his gains. Dempster had amply 


Temptation. 


55 


refundetl himself for the temporary loss of the five 
pounds — indeed, that affair was the result of a plot 
between him and Twoose, conceived by him, and, 
as we have seen, delicately executed together. 
Twoose had already received a pecuniary acknowl- 
edgment for his part in the cunning transaction. 
Dempster was a deep, scheming, wicked fellow, in- 
tent upon making what he could out of Herbert, by 
all the means within his power. He thought if he 
could secure a bet from him, and allow him to win, 
it would be easier for him afterwards to obtain the 
advantage. But Herbert, while occasionally stak- 
ing small amounts, refused to do it with systematic 
regularity, and would not be tempted to venture 
any large sum. 

The influence of Herbert’s home was mainly 
against the life into which Dempster’s wiles would 
have led him. He knew that his mother and grand- 
mother, and both his sisters, would be deeply 
giievedby a knowledge of the few bets he had al- 
ready made ; and that his father, if not deeply 
grieved, would view such conduct with displeasure. 
While his father was professedly a religious man, 
and actively associated with the financial working 
of a Christian church, he seldom manifested his re- 
ligion by any definite sacred act, such as the devo- 
tional reading of the Bible, or prayer, in the pres- 
ence of his family; and he never required his 
children to attend Sunday-school. Herbert went 
in a desultory fashion, when he' felt inclined to go, or 
when he had nothing else particularly to engage his 
time. Belle accompanied Lizzie sometimes, to help 


56 The Fall of the Staincliffes. 

her with her class, and to show a kind and sisterly in- 
terest in Lizzie’s religious work — not because it was 
a personal pleasure to go. Lizzie delighted in the 
Sunday-school. She was seldom absent. She won 
the hearts of the children. She compelled the ad- 
miration of the teachers. She spent within its 
walls some of the happiest moments of her life. 

Mr. Staincliffe was gratified that Lizzie’s inclina- 
tions were religious, and that she was so much in- 
terested in Sunday-school work. But he was 
not concerned that Herbert and Isabel carelessly re- 
garded both school and church — went to the one 
only when they found it covenient, and to the other 
because they had been accustomed to go, and it was 
considered respectable. If Herbert had been trained 
to attend school regularly from his younger years, 
and not left to choose whether he would attend or 
not when he entered upon his teens, the influence of 
the school would have been another barrier in the 
way along which he was now tempted to go. 

His mother was concerned that the bent of his 
mind was so little in" the direction of sacred things. 
She would have been much better pleased if both 
he and Belle had taken the same interest in Sunday- 
school work as Lizzie, especially pleased if Herbert 
had done so, for she was quick to detect indications 
of looseness in his behavior. She knew that Belle 
was sounder in moral principle, and likewise not 
exposed to such strong temptations. Often in pri- 
vate had she prayed for her boy, and in many moth- 
erly ways endeavored to cherish within him a re- 
gard for religion ; and her hope was in keeping the 


Temptation. 


57 


affection, which she knew he had for her, unsullied, 
and using that as a magnet to draw him upward 
into a higher life. 

The grandmother seconded the mother’s endeav - 
ors. She was a devout woman, softened and meh 
lowed by a lingering old age — a woman who had 
been very active, and who had traveled beyond the 
realm of her activities into another realm of quietude, 
where, as in Bunyan’s Beulah, “the air was very 
sweet and pleasant.” Herbert and his sisters had a 
tender regard for Granny. Over Herbert himself 
she unconsciously exercised a controlling influence. 
He would hesitate before doing anything of which 
he knew Granny would disapprove. 

Herbert was able to reject many of Dempster’s 
proposals. His betting was desultory, but, as 
time went on, it gradually became more frequent, 
and for rather larger sums. Dempster could wait. 
He saw the drift of Herbert’s nature. He calculated 
the strength of the forces that were keeping Herbert 
back from entering freely upon a gambling career. 
And, with every additional bet, he knew that these 
forces would be weakened, and that eventually they 
would give way altogether. So he did not unduly 
press his bets upon Herbert, but, by conversation, 
and in other ways, aroused his interest in sporting 
of all kinds, and watched his opportunity to make 
a bet whenever it was given him. 

Slowly Herbert became more and more entangled 
in the meshes of this deceitful man, and more and 
more bound by the cords of a habit, which was in- 
sidiously winding itself about him. The daily pa- 


58 The Pall of the Staincliffes, 

pers became increasingly attractive, not because of 
his deeper interest in public affairs, but because of 
his anxiety to obtain information concerning betting 
news. Occasionally, when widely-known or impor- 
tant races were coming off, he would purchase a 
paper devoted entirely to sporting, in order to pick 
up a few wrinkles, as he termed them, about the 
chances of the races, that he might know on which 
horses to place his money. Without any particular 
shock to his feelings, without even knowing how 
far he was being led, he went on, always careful, 
however, not to divulge either gain or loss at home, 
or to let them know in any way that he was tam- 
pering with a custom which they would cert dnly 
condemn. 

Three months passed away, and Dempster was 
satisfied, on the whole, with his successes. The great 
day was drawing near when one of the most famous 
races in the country was to come off in a neighbor - 
ing county town, and Dempster thought he could 
persuade Herbert to go with him. As they were 
leaving the office one afternoon, Dempster walked 
along the street with Herbert, and said, — 

“It will be a busy time at Westonleigh next 
Wednesday.” 

“Yes,” said Herbert. 

“There is likely to be a very fashionable gather- 
ing.” 

“ I suppose fo.” 

“You know that Lord Westonleigh is entertain- 
ing a very distinguished party — members of Parlia- 
ment, foreign ambassadors, and a royal Duke ; and 


Temptation, 


59 


that, on Wednesday, the Prince of Wales himself, 
it is expected, will come down and join the party. 
When the plate is run for, and the two thousand 
guineas, the course is always favored with the pres- 
ence of royalty.’' 

Herbert made no remark. He surmised that some 
proposal was about to follow this information, and, 
after a moment or two of silence, Dempster said, — 

“ Do you think of going next Wednesday?” 

“No!” said Herbert abruptly, and betraying a 
little agitation. Dempster observed the agitation, 
but affected not to notice it. 

“ I intend going,” said he. 

Herbert was again silent. 

“ There will be plenty going off, and money to 
make for those who are sharp enough to make it,” 
continued Dempster. “ I did a good stroke of busi- 
ness there last year, and I don’t think my luck will' 
forsake me this year. I could put a friend up to a 
thing or two if I could find one willing to go with 
me.” 

“You’re on the wrong man, Dempster, if you 
want me to accompany you,” said Herbert. “I shall 
not go. They may be diddled out of their money 
that like at Westonleigh next Wednesday, but I 
shall keep mine at Easirgholme. Good afternoon,” 
and without waiting to hear anything more, or even 
Dempster’s responsive adieu, he hurried away. 

Dempster walked slowly down a side street in the 
direction of home. He was vexed with himself at his 
failure, and vexed with Herbert because of his decided 
refusal. He had been looking forward confidently 


6o 


The Fall of the Stainclifes. 

toward the great day at Westonleigh, and thought 
he could carry out a plan which would put Herbert 
more in his power, and enable him to reap consid- 
erable pecuniary benefit. Herbert, however, seemed 
on the point of breaking away altogether, and it ap- 
peared as if he would have to look out for other and 
less lucrative prey. 

Herbert had left the office with his thoughts cen- 
tered in his home. Cousin Kate was coming in the 
evening. He had alread}^ pictured her appearance, 
and filled in the picture vnth the familiar details at 
Deerhill. He had seen Granny quietly kissing her, 
and his mother showing her the various rooms, and 
Lizzie wishing her a hearty welcome, and Belle 
boisterously offering her all manner of assistance. 
He had imagined his father giving orders about the 
comfort of the visitor. Somehow, to his fancy, Deer- 
hill was transformed, lifted out of the common atmos- 
phere into a rarer one, by the expected presence of 
Kate Fairfax. Its associations and influences were 
more consciously present with him, and their worth 
seemed enhanced by the anticipation of bringing Kate 
into them, and making her a part of them. When 
Dempster joined him he felt annoyed. His company 
was unwelcome. His talk was an intrusion upon 
the thoughts and feelings that were sweetly exer- 
cising their sway within his nature. His proposal 
to go to Westonleigh came to him like a shock ; it 
awakened him for a moment to a realization of his 
position ; and in the rebound, when the shock was 
over, he was true to his better self, and kept his feet 
out of the snare. 


CHAPTER VI. 


TOM AND LIZZIE. 

children’s voices in Sunnybank Sunday 
* School w^ere blending sweetly together in the 
singing of the closing hymn. Sunnybank was a 
suburb of Easingholme in the direction of DeerhilL 
Lizzie Staincliffe sat at the small organ. She 
had selected a plaintive minor melody to suit Twells- 
pathetic hymn,— 

“ At even, ’ere the the sun was set.” 

The lesson had been on the compassion of Jesus, 
and the hymn was appropriately chosen. She had 
striven to bring Jesus near to the children in her 
own class — to impress them with the fact that He 
was a living and present Saviour, and in the closest 
and tenderest sympathy with us even now ; and her 
scholars had been unusually attentive. As their 
voices, clear and strong, mingled and rose with the 
voices of the others, she felt the truth of the 
words : — 

“ What if Thy form we cannot see f 
We know and feel that Thou art here.” 

Robert Cresswell was the superintendent that af- 
ternoon, and, in the course of an address, had referred 
to the world’s misery, and to sin as the cause of it, 
warning the children against the various temptations 

( 61 ) 


62 


The Tall of the Staincllffes. 


to which they might be exposed. He had spoken a 
very few words about gambling, and had expressed 
the hope that the children would shun it in every 
form, and not even purchase sweets that 
were called lucky sweets, but spend their 
money in some other way. Other evils were 
referred to, and the compassion of Jesus shown 
towards those held in bondage by these evils, as 
well as those who were suffering in different ways 
as the result of them ; while not forgetting those 
whose sufferings were not traceable to any evil 
source, but simply the result of causes over which 
they had no control. 

The teachers remained after the scholars were dis- 
missed, to consult about and arrange for a series of 
preparatory lessons for a forthcoming examination. 
As they left the school, Tom Cresswell passed out 
with Lizzie, and walked beside her along the road 
toward Deerhill. Through Herbert’s friendship 
from early boyhood, and by close association in Sun- 
day-school work, they had become intimate with 
each other, and their intercourse was natural and 
unrestrained. There had been no confession of love 
between them. Lizzie had never seriously thought 
of it, and Tom had been careful not to speak about 
it, but had conducted himself in the free and almost 
brotherly fashion which a long and close acquaint- 
ance had fostered and given him a claim to. 

“Herbert has not been to school to-day, Lizzie,” 
Tom said. 

“ We have company. Cousin Kate, of Dunsford, 
is staying with us,” Lizzie replied ; “and I suppose 


To?n and Lizzie. 63 

Herbert thinks he must stay at home and entertain 
her.” 

How long has your cousin been with you ?” 

“ Only a few days.” 

‘‘But Herbert has not been to school for a few 
weeks,” said Tom. 

“ You know, Tom, he has not much liking for 
school. He never had. And a very feeble excuse 
is sufficient to keep him away.” 

“ I saw him in the tow n the other day with a young 
lady — a tall girl, wdth light hair. Would that be 
your cousin ?” 

“ I suppose so Had she blue eyes ?” 

“ I was not near enough to see the color of her 
eyes,” Tom replied, with a smile. “ She was rath- 
er gaily dressed in a kind ofpink muslin, and stepped 
along in an easy way as if she cared for nothing and 
nobody.” 

“ Yes! that would be Kate,” said Lizzie. 

“ Is she acquainted with Dempster, one of your 
father’s clerks .?” Tom asked. 

“ Yes ! a sort of half-cousin to him, I believe. 
She is not really cousin to us,” continued Lizzie, 
“ only the daughter of the gentleman Aunt Ellen 
married, and whom we knew very little about. 
But we feel toward her as if she were really a 
cousin.” 

“I see. She was Mr. Fairfax’s daughter,” said Tom, 
“and Dempster is very likely related to the family 
of the first Mrs. Fairfax. Do you know, Lizzie, I 
have an impression that Herbert’s friendship with 
Dempster is not likely to do him much good. He is 


64 


The Fall of the Staincliffes, 


not the kind of man Herbert should become too 
friendly with.” 

“Herbert is not very friendly with him, is he, 
Tom ?” 

“ Well ! I scarcely know. They are often to- 
gether.” 

Is there anything wrong about Dempster 

“ His habits are not such as I should like to see 
Herbert forming,” answered Tom. “ He is a bet- 
ting man, and a frequenter of houses that are not 
considered the most respectable in Easingholme.” 
Lizzie’s face became pale and grave, and she looked 
earnestly into Tom’s face, and Tom said appealingly, 
“ I wish you would warn him, Lizzie,” 

“ I will try,” said Lizzie, in low tones. Then, 
appealing to Tom, she said, “But you could warn 
him, Tom. You know more about Dempster than 
I do, and Herbert would be sure to listen to you.” 

As soon as I have a chance I intend speaking to 
him,” said Tom, “ and if we both do it, our words 
may have some effect.” 

They walked quietly on for some distance gravely 
occupied with their own thoughts. It was a peace- 
ful autumn afternoon. Here and there a large 
brown leaf floated straight and slowly down from 
the arching trees overhead, and settled among innu- 
merable others that strewed the pathway. The 
sunlight fell aslant the trees and slept on the 
ground between their shadows. The two figures 
moved on, flecked by the alternating sunshine and 
shade, a symbol of human life. But presently they 
left the trees, and came into the open, mellow light, 


Tom and Lizzie. 


65 

where the road was free from shadows, and their 
own forms felt the uninterrupted warmth of the sun’s 
westering rays. Lizzie’s face brightened as she 
said, — 

“ We are having a picnic, Tom, next Wednesday, 
at Castle Dene. Will you join us ?” 

“ With pleasure,” Tom readily and cheerily 
answered. 

“ Thank you,” responded Lizzie, and she thought 
the picnic would give Tom an opportunity of speak- 
ing to Herbert, besides affording her the enjoyment 
of Tom’s presence and company. 

Tom looked at his watch, and bidding Lizzie 
“ Good afternoon,” turned into a footpath that led 
across the fields, and, by a nearer way, to his own 
home. He had not noticed, that, in the distance, 
round a bend in the road, Herbert and Kate Fair- 
fax were appearing, and had caught sight of him 
as he entered the fields. Lizzie, too, was unaware 
of their approach until their laughter roused her 
from the reverie into which she had sunk upon 
Tom’s departure. When they came near, Kate 
said, — 

You might have kept your companion a 
little longer, Lizzie, and given me an introduc- 
tion.” 

Lizzie smiled sweetly, and answered, “You will 
soon be able to make his acquaintance, Kate. He 
will join us at the picnic on Wednesday.” 

“ Charming ! ” exclaimed Kate. “ That will make 
three gentlemen and three ladies, and so we shall 
preserve the balance of power.” 


66 


The Fall of the Staincliffes. 


“Three! ’’said Lizzie. “Who is going beside 
Herbert and Tom?” 

“ My cousin Dempster,” answered Kate. “We 
were talking about the picnic this afternoon, and 
Aunt Louey suggested that we should ask him. It 
is a long time since I met him, except for a 
minute or two with Herbert in the town the other 
day. We were playmates as children, and quarrelled 
together in the heartiest and most refreshing fashion. 
I remember pulling his hair one day, for willfully 
wrenching an arm off my favorite doll, until he 
scr eamed frightfully, and brought me into such dis- 
grace that, for a full hour, I felt like a cruel bar- 
barian. He may have forgotten it, but I haven’t. 
I should like to meet him again, and see whether 
his hair has grown in that particular place.” 

“ I can vouch for that, Kate,” said Herbert. “His 
hair is all right. There is no trace of your fingers 
there now. But he must have been a little coward 
to scream like that, and a worse barbarian than you 
to wrench the doll’s arm off. You were only doing 
justice to your injured frotege, I should call your 
punishment a healthy exercise of lynch law.” 

“ Who is the young gentleman that will favor us 
with his company on W ednesday, Lizzie ?” asked 
Kate, looking at her out of her eye corners, and with 
a cunning smile. 

“ Tom Cresswell,” answered Lizzie, “ one of Her- 
bert’s friends.” 

“Yes ! one of Herberfs friends,” echoed Kate. 
Then turning to Herbert, she said, “ And is he one 
of Lizzie's friends, too, Herbert ?” 


Tom and Lizzie, 


67 


Of course,” said Herbert, laughing. “ Tom and 
Lizzie are capital friends, with tastes very much 
alike, and they always get on exceedingly well to- 
gether. And there is no nonsense about Tom. 
He’s a downright good fellow, with a heart as kind 
as his face is handsome. Don’t you think so, 
Lizzie ?” 

I will not say what I think,” said Lizzie, with the 
color mounting to her cheeks, and her eyes filling 
with light. “ Tom is a very true friend of yours, 
Herbert, and desires to keep you out of all harm.” 
The words were said with calm and deliberate em- 
phasis, and eftectually stopped all inclination to 
banter on his part and Kate’s. 

“ Harm ! I’m not aware that harm threatens 
me,” said Herbert. “But if it did, I know that Tom, 
like a friendly warrior, would throw his shield over 
me. I’m safe enough, Lizzie. Tom’s good offices 
will not be needed.” 

Kate turned aside to pluck a cluster of red haw- 
thorn berries. They were out of reach, and Her- 
bert, hooking the stag’s-horn handle of his walking- 
stick round the branch, pulled it down close to her 
hand. Nipping off the cluster, she fastened it in 
the bosom of her dress, and, upon resuming the 
walk, turned the conversation into another channel. 

Lizzie was concerned, after Tom’s hint about 
Dempster’s habits, that he should be invited to the 
picnic. She did not show her concern, however, 
nor did she object, by word or sign, to the invitation. 
He was Kate’s cousin, and she could not offend 
Kate by an objection founded merely on Tom’s 


68 


The Fall of the Stainclijfes, 

statement. She did not know how much was im- 
plied by Tom’s statement, but she feared that 
Dempster was a man of loose character, unfit to 
enter by family recognition into closer intimacy 
with Herbert, and she felt sorry that he was to be 
asked to join them. She knew that Tom would not 
have mentioned him, and the danger that might re- 
sult from his growing friendship with Herbert, if 
he had not had grave reasons for doing so. But, per- 
sonally, she had no acquaintance with him; she could 
bring no definite charge against him; she saw that 
any unexplained objection to his company offered 
by her would be liable to be misinterpreted; there- 
fore she kept her fears within herself, and hoped the 
picnic would not be spoiled by his presence. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE PICNIC, 


OM CRESSWELL joined the party at Castle 



1 Dene in the early afternoon. Herbert intro- 
duced him to his cousin Kate, and also to Dempster, 
although an introduction to him was scarcely neces- 
sary. Tom and Dempster had seen each other fre- 
quently about the town, and, althoughnot on speak- 
ing terms , were so far acquainted with each other as to 
know that their lives were apart and adverse, — 
that there was nothing in common between them. 
Dempster had heard that Tom was invited, and, 
when introduced, welcomed him with dry courtesy. 
Tom was not aware that Dempster had been invited, 
and was therefore surprised to see him. 

Castle Dene was a wooded valley, widening 
down into meadow lands, and running up to the 
moors. On a rocky knoll, in the middle of the val- 
ley, and toward the moors, were the ruins of an old 
castle. The ruins were not extensive. No one had 
thought it worth while to care for their preservation. 
Wild creepers had wandered overthem,and displaced 
one stone after another, until there were now only 
two detached fragments, and these were being so 
worn by wind and rain as to threaten with every 
winter’s storm to come toppling to the ground. 
When one immense forest covered this part of Eng- 
land, as was the case when the castle was built, it 


( 69 ) 


70 Tlie Fall of the Staincliffes. 

must have been a sequestered spot, far removed even 
from the slow life of those long past days ; and, al- 
though now visited occasionally by a few people, 
mostly groups of young pleasure seekers, it was a 
sequestered spot still — a spot where one might easily 
forget the throbbing and nervous activities, which 
were filling human lives only a few miles away. 

In some parts the valley was very narrow, the 
trees rising abruptly on both sides, and the footpath 
keeping beside the stream that here ran in a straight 
and deep channel, and tumbled in a succession of 
musical cascades down the rocks. In other parts 
the valley opened, the stream became wider and 
shallower, the trees revealed a broader belt of sky, 
and the footpath swept in long curves, under arch- 
ing branches, toward the top of the hill. On this 
autumn afternoon, when the tints were at their 
loveliest, it was a delightful walk up the valley to the 
castle, where, between the two fragments of ruin, 
on a grassy plateau, luncheon could be served in 
perfect picnic style. 

Upon Tom’s arrival the party proceeded to the 
castle, and were soon engaged upon a merry meal. 
Dempster made himself very agreeable, paying 
special attention to his cousin, who divided her 
favors between him and Herbert. Of Tom, she took 
little direct notice, and yet, indirectly, allowed noth- 
ing he said or did to pass by unobserved. This tall, 
handsome young maiden, with her engaging aban- 
don, saw more than she seemed to see. Beneath all 
her outward carelessness there was a perceptive and 
retentive mind, and, while her talk was mainly di- 


The Picnic. 


71 


rected to Herbert or Dempster, her thoughts were 
not seldom fixed upon Tom. He devoted himself 
to Lizzie. While luncheon was preparing, and the 
meal in hand, he anticipated Lizzie’s wishes, and 
helped her in all kinds of ways. The rest of the 
company looked to Lizzie for everything they re- 
quired, and Lizzie’s efforts were seconded by Tom’s 
faithful and ready service. Belle fired her conversa- 
tional shots all round. She was quite impartial. 
She kept the company laughing by her witty sallies, 
and prevented anyone from completely monopolizing 
the attention of anyone else. 

The meal was cleared, and the company started 
for a further ramble toward the moors. They descend- 
ed the knoll on the other side, and kept to the path 
close by the stream, crossing here and there by the 
help of stepping stones. The valley became nar- 
rower, and soon they had to commence climbing the 
hill to reach the fringe of the moor. Lizzie and Kate 
accepted the assistance proffered by the young men, 
but Isabel, younger and more nimble, and less con- 
ventional, went forward with elastic steps, and was 
soon lost to view. Both Herbert and Dempster 
helped Kate, Herbert on the right hand, Dempster 
on the left, pulling her up the steeper places, her 
tongue all the while being a good match for their 
two. Tom and Lizzie came slowly behind, Lizzie 
feeling delight in the firmness of Tom’s arm, and smil- 
ing her thanks as he helped her up some more diffi- 
cult slope where the footing was not very secure. 

“ I did not expect to meet Dempster here, Lizzie,” 
said Tom. 


The Pall of the StaincliffeS, 

“ He was invited because he was Kate’s cousin/^ 
said Lizzie. “ They decided upon the invitation last 
Sunday afternoon, and I only heard of it after our 
conversation about him.” 

“He is very courteous to your cousin, and in- 
clined to be pleasant with us all,” Tom remarked. 

“Yejs!” 

“ What do you think about him, Lizzie? He does 
hot seem to be what 1 said he was the other day.” 

‘‘ I do not like him.” 

“ Why?” 

“ 1 can hardly say. There is something about 
his eyes I dislike. They look hard, as if they had 
no pity in them, and they are not steady. They 
never look right at you, but waver, and glance off, 
afraid, it would seem, lest by steadily looking they 
might reveal something which they would rather 
you did not know. They are not like your eyes, 
Tom.” 

“Then you do not dislike mine, Lizzie?” said 
Tom, smiling. 

Lizzie blushed to find that she had made this in- 
advertent confession. She did not reply to Tom’s 
question, but silently mounted the hill. Tom turned 
the conversation on to Sunday-school matters, al- • 
ways interesting to Lizzie, until they came out from 
the steep, wooded slope upon the open moor. Kate, 
with her two companions, had gone off to the right, 
and Belle was directly before them. They were 
making their way toward Belle, when they heard 
her shout, and saw her beckoning for them. 

“ What’s the matter, Belle?” Tom called out, as 


The Picnit. 


73 

they approached the place where she was kneel- 
ing. 

“Do be sharp, answered Belle; and, when they 
came up, “Look into this crevice.” 

“ What is there?” they both asked, glancing be- 
tween two rocks, and then Lizzie exclaimed, 
“What a lovely spicant fern! Can you get it, 
Tom ?” 

“ Let me see,” said Tom, bending down, and pull- 
ing up his coat sleeve that he might thrust his arm 
into the crevice. 

“ Mind what you are doing, Tom,” said Isabel. 
‘T tried to get the fern for Lizzie, and I found some- 
thing else down there that I didn’t bargain for. 
Look into the corner.” 

“Do you mean that brown thing? Why!” ex- 
claimed Tom, abruptly, “it’s a hedgehog. I thought 
it was a little heap of brown earth, but I see the 
prickles now-” 

“Yes, and I have felt them,” said Belle, looking 
ruefully at her hand. “ You’d better mind, Tom. 
The prickles are sharp.” 

“Have you seen a hedgehog before, Lizzie?” 
Tom asked. 

“ No !” said Lizzie. “ I should like to see this 
one.” 

“I’ll fetch it out,” said Tom, “and perhaps it 
will unroll itself and run away.” 

Getting his hand well under the little creature, 
Tom lifted it out, and placed it among the short 
heather. But it remained rolled up. There was 
nothing to be seen but a ball of prickles. When the 


74 


The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

other three, who had wandered off to the right, no- 
ticed Lizzie, Isabel, and Tom carefully inspecting 
something on the ground, they came across to see 
what it was. 

“ Where did you find it?” asked Herbert. 

“Between those two rocks,” said Belle. 

“ Cannot you make it unroll itself?” 

“No! you can try, Herbert, if you like. I have 
had quite enough to do with the little pincushion.” 

Herbert took two sticks, turned the creature on 
its back, and tried to force it open. Suddenly 
Dempster cried, “ Here! I’ll open it,” and before 
they were aware of his intention, he dashed a heavy 
stone, which he had lifted unnoticed from behind 
them, full upon the hedgehog, and crushed it into a 
bleeding mass. 

Lizzie and Belle were shocked, Tom was grieved, 
Herbert was disgusted, only Kate showed no sign 
of emotion. Dempster surveyed them with a thinly- 
disguised sneer. 

“You haven’t lost the nature you had when a boy, 
Dempster,” said Herbert. 

“ What do you know about my boyhood?’' asked 
Dempster, sharply. 

“ This. That you once willfully wrenched off an 
arm from one of Kate’s dolls, and that bit of cruelty 
and the bit we have now witnessed are both of a 
piece,” Herbert replied. 

Dempster glanced rather savagely at Kate, and 
Kate smiled. 

“ If it were not beneath a lady’s dignity to touch a 
brute like you,” Herbert continued, his temper ris- 


The Picnic. 


75 


ing as he spoke, “I should be delighted if Kate 
were now to punish you as effectually as she pun- 
ished you then.” 

Hush, Herbert,” said Lizzie. “You shouldn’t 
talk so.” 

Dempster’s brow lowered, and he turned away to- 
ward the wood. The rest followed. The lovely 
spicant fern was forgotten. A feeling of sadness 
came over the company, and it was some time before 
they entered again into the free flow of conversation. 
The three girls walked together. Tom and Herbert 
came behind. 

“Wasn’t that a cruel thing to do, Tom?” said 
Herbert. 

“ It was,” Tom answered , “ and if I think rightly, 
he is capable of more cruel things still.” 

“ What do you mean, Tom?” 

“ That he is unscrupulous — a betting man, who 
would delight in obtaining the money of another, 
and tempting that other astray for the sake of fleec- 
ing him.” Herbert was silent. Tom continued, 
“I have seen you often with him lately, Herbert, 
and I have been anxious lest you should enter upon 
a course which would be sure to end in ruin. You 
don’t bet, do you?” 

“ Well — as to that — I scarcely know what to 
say,” said Herbert, hesitatingly. “I have ventured 
sometimes to stake a little money when I saw a 
chance of winning. You know, Tom, it would be 
a pleasure to win money from a fellow like 
Dempster.” 

“ Not for me. It would be no pleasure to win 


7 6 The Pali of the Staincliffes, 

money at all except by fair transactions or honest 
labor.” 

“Aylyouh^ve a fad about such things, Tom. 
But I haven’t. If a fellow is willing to stake his 
money against yours, with his eyes open, knowing 
perfectly well that the chances of the game, or the 
race, or whatever they may bet on, may go against 
him, I don’t see where the wrong comes in.” 

“If it were a matter of pure chance,” said Tom, 
“it would be wrong to me, because if I won I should 
take another man’s money and give him nothing for 
it. But it is not a ” 

“Well, but, Tom, if the man knew when he 
staked his money that he would get nothing for it, 
I cannot see how it would be wrong.” 

“ The man’s knowledge, or otherwise, would 
make no difference to the quality of the transaction. 
And, I say, commercially, and morally too, the 
quality of a transaction like that is bad.” 

“ You were about to say something else when I 
interrupted you. What was it.?” 

“ That when a man makes a bet, in ninety- 
nine cases out of a hundred it is not a bet on a pure 
chance. The man makes the bet on certain secret 
information which the other man is not supposed 
to know. It is a matter of duplicity — a pull be- 
tween the two as to which is the craftier man.” 

“And what about the Stock Exchange, Tom? 
And what about almost every kind of business you 
look into? Isn’t it all duplicity? Are not all com- 
mercial men trying to obtain the better of their fel- 
lows in the very way you have described ? Why, on 


The Picnic, 


77 


your own showing, we are a nation of gamblers, 
and, if we were not, our commercial system would 
collapse.” 

‘‘ Not so bad as that, Herbert. There are honest 
tradesmen yet. But if business is done on these lines 
— if men take advantage of the ignorance of their 
fellows, it is no justification of the method they 
adopt. Betting is none the better because the prin- 
ciples on which bets are made find frequent expres- 
sions in commercial life. We ought the more deeply 
to deplore an evil which is so widespread. Then, 
in business — I do not now refer to the Stock Ex- 
change — in ordinary business, a man does receive 
something for his money, if not an equivalent ; 
but when a man bets and looses, he receives noth- 
ing. 

^‘But if he wins,” put in Herbert. 

“If he wins,” said Tom, “he receives all, and 
gives nothing but disappointment and bitterness, 
which, in fact and in consequence, is perilously like 
robbery.” Herbert was again silent, and Tom con- 
tinued, But I did not intend our conversation tak- 
ing this turn. I wanted to warn you against 
Dempster. You cannot keep out of his way so long 
as he continues in your father’s office, but you can 
refuse to make a friend of him. Don’t be enticed 
to places where he goes, and don’t fall into his 
ways.” 

“ Never you fear, Tom. I’m not so fond of him as 
all that. He has well-nigh spoiled my pleasure to- 
day by sticking to Kate so closely. I wish to good- 
ness he hadn’t come. There he is, helping Kate 


78 The Fall oj the Stamcliffes, 

down the incline,” and he pointed under the trees 
where the two were going down together. The 
lowering expression had departed from Dempster’s 
face, and he was laughing at some remark that had 
just fallen from Kate’s lips. 

Herbert darted off to join them, and Tom offered 
to assist Lizzie and Belle. They quickly reached 
the grassy plateau between the ruins, and, gathering 
together their belongings, turned their faces to- 
ward home. 

It was dusk, and, before they were out of the 
valley, the dusk had deepened into darkness. Kate 
and Isabel, with Dempster and Herbert, led the 
way, walking in a group, and as Tom and Lizzie 
followed some distance behind they heard Belle’s 
merry laugh, and occasionally the mingled chatter 
of all the party. Evidently Dempster had not al- 
lowed Herbert’s words to interfere long with his 
enjoyment, and Herbert had so far overcome his 
temper as to be talkative and agreeable. 

Tom informed Lizzie of his conversation with Her- 
bert. He imparted to her his fears that Herbert was 
on unsafe ground, and that Dempster was likely to 
make the ground more slippery still. Lizzie felt much 
concerned about him, and resolved to speak to him 
on the first opportunity. Both she and Tom be- 
came silent, stepping slowly through the darkness, 
along the narrow path beside the stream. Lizzie 
stumbled against a piece of rock, and Tom said, — 

‘‘Take my arm, Lizzie.” 

She quietly obeyed, and Tom placed his right 
hand across Lizzie’s as it lay within his arm. 


The Picnic, 


79 


‘‘I have something to say to you, Lizzie. I have 
been waiting to say it some time.” He felt Lizzie’s 
hand tremble within and tighten over his arm. 
“We are old enough now to understand each other. 
Will you be mine, Lizzie ? I have loved you a long, 
long while, loved you with all my heart, and it 
would make me very happy if I knew that you 
loved me. I think you do, but I would like to be 
quite certain. Is it so?” Again the hand trembled 
within and tightened over his arm, and Lizzie an- 
swered — 

“Yes!” 

“My dear, I am very happy,” said Tom, and he 
pressed his hand over Lizzie’s with a thrill of joy. 

“So am I, Tom,” said Lizzie; and turning her 
face toward him in the darkness, she received and 
gave the seal of her confessed affection in a simple 
kiss. 

They walked on silently, in tranquil gladness, 
and did not reach the others until they were close 
by the entrance to Deerhill. After the farewells, 
Tom and Dempster started together for Easing- 
holme — Tom happy in the possession of his new 
secret, and thinking about the enhanced joy of his 
future life; Dempster reflecting bitterly on Herbert’s 
passionate reproaches, and meditating how he could 
satisfy his cherished resentment in more thoroughly 
effecting Herbert’s ruin. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


TWO INTERVIEWS. 


HE Rev. Nicholas Tremayne had just pushed a 



I volume of Dr. Adam Clark’s Commentary in- 
to the shelves, and was about to reach down Mat- 
thew Henry to consult him also preparatory to 
mapping out his sermon for the following Sunday, 
when a tap came to the study door, and the servant 
handed in a card bearing the name of yohn Stain- 


cliff e. 


“ Show him in, Lucy,” said Mr. Tremayne; and 
he pulled the armchair near the fire for the accommo- 
dation of his visitor. 

John Staincliffe was the big man of his congrega- 
tion. During his two years’ residence at Easing- 
holme he had seen Mr. Stainclifie’s face at least 
once on the Lord’s Day, and he had often visited 
the family at Deerhill, but he had never been 
favored by a visit from Mr. Staincliffe at his own 
home. He wondered what wind had blown so un- 
likely a visitor to the manse, and half-hoped it 
was a wind which would scatter a church debt, the 
accumulation of several years, that sadly hampered 
him in his religious work. 

“ Good-morning, Mr. Staincliffe. Glad to see you. 
Will you take a chair by the fire?” 

“Thank you, I will,” said Mr. Staincliffe. “ Itis 
not very warm this morning. The fog is chill, and 



AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR. — 80 






: ■ 





to 


» ’^, 


. f 



j ■' 




Mr p 




■'i 







■A 




•> ^1 




\i 


r^ 


■:^ * 






<m 


f 


\U 


f 


9 J'- 


«;1 


* * * 




t; 



r. 

‘ ^ - Vi. • * 

. « f * * 


)l 


1 


’ ^ i *■ ' ■ *. • 

^ ^ 4- f'^^CvL;. 


«• 


-« ’ 




V 


< • 



V 


' i . • • 1 


»• 


f-- 







* I 


fi 






Two Interviews. 


83 


a sign of coming winter,” and he glanced round 
the study at the well-filled shelves, and the few 
plain pictures, mostly photographic views, and at 
last allowed his eyes to settle upon a sweet 
woman’s face, in an oval gilt frame, above the mantle- 
piece. 

“You look very cosy here, Mr. Tremayne.” 

“Yes,” said the minister. “I like a cosy study. 
Dull surroundings would mean dull sermons. 
Cheerful things to look upon are likely to favorably 
afiect a man’s train of thought. A preacher, 
above all men, should not be a hypochondriac.” 

“ True, Mr. Tremayne. Sermons should be bright, 
and — short,” said Mr. Stainclifie, at which the min- 
ister nodded and smiled. 

“ I came to see you about a very unpleasant mat- 
ter,” continued Mr. Staincliffe, suddenly altering 
his tone. “ I have no wish to cause trouble in the 
church, but I cannot put up with references to my 
business which reflect upon my character.” And Mr. 
Staincliffe’s face wore something very like a frown. 

“ I am not aware of having made any such refer- 
ences,” said Mr. Tremayne, lifting his eyebrows, 
and looking at his visitor in surprise. 

“ No! you haven’t. Tou would have more sense 
than to do so. The references were made in the 
school address last Sunday.” 

“And who gave the address, pray?” 

“Robert Cresswell.” 

“You must be mistaken, Mr. Staincliffe. I can 
trust Robert Cresswell. He would say nothing 
wrong, I am sure.” 


84 


The Fall of the Staincliffes. 

“Well! but he has said something wronsr,” said 
Mr. Staincliffe, testily. “ I have been informed, upon 
reliable authority, that Robert Cresswell made 
unjust references to a certain part of my trade, 
calculated to damage that trade in the eyes of the 
children ; and what is worse, likely to give the 
children a bad impression of my character.” 

“ I do not understand you, Mr. Staincliffe. I must 
trouble you to explain.” 

“You know that Robert Cresswell was dismissed 
from my employ some months ago.” 

“Yes.” 

“ And why he was dismissed.” 

“ No ! I do not know why except in a very general 
way.” 

“ Hasn’t Cresswell told you?” 

“ He told me that you could not agree upon cer- 
tain particulars connected with the working of the 
business, but he did not tell me what the particulars 
were.” 

“ Well! he refused to carry out my orders in a 
contemplated new departure, and we had to sepa- 
rate. It would have been wise for him to have let 
the matter rest there. But last Sunday he stigma- 
tized this branch of my trade — the branch about 
which the trouble arose — as a species of gambling, 
and, of course, by inference, associated me with 
gamblers. That is bad enough, isn’t it?” said Mr. 
Staincliffe, waxing warm, “ and, to speak plainly, I 
do not intend to put up with it. Either Robert 
Cresswell must be called to account, or I shall resign 
my office as treasurer, and leave you.” 


Two Interviews, 


85 


“ I am very sorry, Mr. Staincliffe; but what is that 
branch of your trade which Robert Cresswell has 
called a species of gambling?” 

Placing small coins in a given number of con- 
fectionery purses, children’s goods, to induce the 
children to buy on the chance of obtaining a coin.” 

“ I was not aware that any part of your business 
was carried on in that way,” said Mr. Tremayne 
gravely. 

I have not done it long, and I am only follow- 
ing in the track of others,” said Mr. Staincliffe, 
unconsciously apologetic in tone. Then bristling 
up at the recollection of Robert Cresswelfs address, 
and observing the grave expression of Mr. Tre- 
mayne’s countenance, he said, “But what wrong is 
there in it?” 

“ A good deal, I should say,” calmly responded 
Mr. Tremayne. 

“Perhaps you agree with Cresswell?” said Mr. 
Staincliffe, hotly. 

“ I do. I thing Robert Cresswell was right in 
calling it a species of gambling.” 

Tou do. Then you will please consider me no 
longer treasurer of your church funds, and you will 
oblige me by removing my name from your list of 
members,” said Mr. Staincliffe, becoming extra court- 
eous in his attempt to bottle up his wrath, although 
he knew the attempt was made at the risk of explo- 
sion. He sprang from his seat, and grasped the 
knob of the door. 

“It would be a pity for you to sever your con- 
nection with the church in a moment of anger, Mr, 


g6 The Fall of the Staincliffes. 

Staincliffe,” said the minister whose face had become 
pale. “You would regret it afterwards. Let me 
advise you to think it over a few days, and also 
calmly to consider the principle involved in the new 
departure in your trade, and see whether the 
principle approves itself to your conscience as a fol- 
lower of Jesus Christ. I seek your good, Mr. 
Staincliffe, God knows, and I would save you from 
spiritual peril.” 

“ My mind is made up, Mr. Tremayne. I thought 
of this before I came here. I will send up my 
books and whatever balance is owing to the church 
in any way from me; and 1 must ask you to con- 
sider me as no longer connected with you. Good- 
morning,” and he opened the door, and was about to 

go- 

“A moment, please, Mr. Staincliffe. I would 
beg of you again to think about the step you are 
taking. It is a very serious one. It affects your 
family as well as yourself. It will affect the church 
too, — disturb its unity, lower its social influence, 
lessen its possibilities of service, affect it in many ways. 
You cannot see all that your resignation and depart- 
ure involves.” 

“ If you think, Mr. Tremayne, that my business 
is dishonest, and if you will permit my name to be 
maligned,” said Mr. Staincliffe, turning round, “you 
must take the consequences.” 

“ Words like those need qualification,” Mr. Tre- 
mayne answered. “ I would fain hope, Mr. Stain- 
clifle, that you are mistaken in the conducting of 
gne part of your business, — nothing worse than that, 


Two Interviews. 87 

—and I would like you to reconsider your posi- 
tion.” 

“ My business is mine, sir, and I allow no one to 
interfere with it,” said Mr. Staincliffe, in angry 
tones. 

This sharp retort struck fire out of the rocky nature 
of the Cornishman. “And my business is mine,” 
he replied. “ I am a minister of religion, your ac- 
cepted minister hitherto, set to watch over your re- 
ligious welfare, and it is my duty to warn you 
whenever I see you entering upon perilous ways, 
either in your business or any other department of 
your life, — to warn you faithfully, and I have done 
it.” In solemn earnestness Mr. Tremayne continued, 
“ I must render my account to my Master and yours, 
by-and-by, and I would be clear of all blame in re- 
gard to your action.” 

Mr. Stainclifib hesitated for a moment, and in an- 
other moment was gone. 

The minister sat down at his desk, and buried 
his face in his hands. He remained in this posture 
for some time; then he arose, and looked long and 
tenderly into the sweet woman’s face pictured above 
the mantel-piece. Suggestions as to the expediency 
of allowing Mr. Staincliffe to resign had crossed his 
mind once or twice during the conversation. He 
had half thought that it might be better to persuade 
Robert Cresswell to apologize, and Mr. Staincliffe 
to accept the apology, and retain his office and 
membership. Mr. Staincliffe was a man of good 
social standing, and substantial means, and he was 
tempted to keep him even at the cost of principle. 


38 The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

He had not revealed this by look or gesture to Mr. 
StainclifFe. He had fought against it. But the 
struggle had to be gone through again, and in 
sharper fashion, after Mr. StainclifFe had left; and 
with his head bowed upon his desk, he entered the 
conflict, and came out of it victorious. It 
was the consciousness of the approval of her to 
whom that face belonged — his sainted wife — that 
led him, when the conflict was over, to look long and 
tenderly at the picture, and thank God that her 
memory had once more helped him to walk in the 
right way. 

% Hi % Ht Ht 

Mr. StainclifFe sat moodily in his private office. 
He was annoyed at the result of his interview with 
Mr. Tremayne. He could not complacently con- 
template withdrawal from the church with which 
he had been connected for so many years. His 
father had been the prime mover, and the main do- 
nor, in the erection of the sanctuary in which the 
church now worshipped, and the name of StainclifFe 
had become closely associated with it and with 
all its enterprises. He had quite decided to leave, 
and although his decision had been shaken a little 
by Mr. Tremayne’s closing words, it had regained 
its strength while returning to the office. 

“ Father,” said Herbert, entering the private room, 
“Tom Cresswell called while you were out. He 
wants to see you !” 

“ What about?” 

“ I don’t know. He seemed rather disappointed 


Two Interviews. 89 

at not seeing you. He said he would call again 
about one o’clock.” 

Mr. Staincliffe turned to his desk, and began to 
busy himself with his papers. Herbert quietly left 
the room. At five minutes to one Tom made his 
appearance. 

“ Is Mr. Staincliffe in, Herbert?” 

“ Yes, Tom; he’s in, and he’s very grumpy. He 
was looking like a thundercloud a little while ago.” 

“ Has he been put out about something?” 

** I should think so. He was away nearly all the 
morning — went away thoughtful, and came back 
vexed. I hope you'll find him in a more amiable 
temper. Shall I tell him you are here?” 

“ If you please, Herbert.” 

Tom was soon standing in Mr. Staincliffe’s presence. 
He could see at once that Herbert’s description of 
him was correct, and he would much rather have 
deferred his business, if that had been possible, until 
he could have seen him under more favorable cir- 
cumstances. But here he was, with no other busi- 
ness on hand, and therefore he had to go through 
with it. 

“ What can I do for you?” asked Mr. Staincliffe, 
without asking him to sit down, and as if the sooner 
he was gone out the better. 

“ I would like to have a few words with you 
about Lizzie.” 

And what about Lizzie ? ” 

“ I would like your assent to an engagement be- 
tween Lizzie and myself, Mr. Staincliffe, and your 
permission to visit Deerhill. ” Tom’s face flushed, 


The Fall of the Staincliffe^, 

and Mr. Staincliffe’s settled into sterner lines. “We 
have known each other for a long time, and Lizzie 
herself is quite willing that the engagement should 
be made. It is with her approval that I have sought 
this interview*” 

There was a painful silence. Mr. Staincliffe sat 
perfectly still a few moments, as if listening for 
what Tom had further to say. Then he glanced 
sharply into Tom’s face, and Tom said,— =- 

“ I hope you have no objection.” 

“ But I have a strong objection. I want no alli- 
ance between any member of my family and a Cress- 
well.” Tom’s face burned. An indignant answer 
sprang to his lips, and almost forced itself into ut- 
terance. “ Differences have arisen between 
your family and mine,” continued Mr. Staincliffe, 
“which would effectually prevent any union be- 
tween them ; even if union had at any time been 
possible, Lizzie must look higher than you.” Tom’s 
cheeks were tingling with resentment, and he pressed 
his fingers into his palms to keep himself from 
bursting forth in passionate reply. “ I will inform 
Lizzie of the result of our interview, as you say it 
has been sought with her approval, and I would 
thank you, after this, not to thrust your companion- 
ship on her, but leave her alone, and go your own 
way. ” 

He walked to the door, and opened it, for Tom to 
pass out. 

“ What you have said has been a surprise, and a 
grief, to me,” said Tom, standing still, and looking 
intently at Mr. Staincliffe. I have never thrust 


Two Interviews. 


9 ' 


my companionship upon Lizzie, and you need have 
no fear that I shall. I am sorry that any differences 
between you and my father should have made you 
think that the Cresswells are not the equals, in 
everything except money, of the vStaincliffes. This 
is an objection I never dreamed of, and which I be- 
lieve you will relinquish when you are in a better 
frame of mind. I do not despair of securing Lizzie’s 
hand some time, although you refuse to recognize 
our engagement now.” 

Tom left with a sad heart. The clerks were at din- 
ner, and Herbert had gone into the town, so that no 
one saw him as he passed through the large office, 
and into the street. He hurried home, wondering 
how Lizzie would receive the news, and whether 
she would give him an opportunity of making any 
necessary explanations before they submitted to the 
parting which Mr. Staincliffe’s objection imposed. 


CHAPTER IX. 


BROKEN BANDS. 

T he StainclifTes left the Methodist chapel. Mr. 

Staincliffe himself found it a harder wrench 
than he had anticipated, but when the wrench was 
over, and he was quite away, he tried to forget the 
place and its associations, and bear himself toward 
it and its people as if he had never been connected 
with them. Herbert and Isabel offered no opposi- 
tion, but contentedly accepted the change, and con- 
vsidered themselves thenceforth as Church people. 
Mrs. Staincliffe was against the removal. She 
spoke to her husband about it, advised him to over- 
look Robert Cresswell’s l eferences, and continue in 
office and membership at the place with which he 
had been associated all his days. Before her mar- 
riage she had attended church. Her sympathies 
were not strongly Nonconformist. She loved the 
Church service, and went to church occasionally 
after her marriage, but she now wished her husband 
to remain at the chapel, because she feared, particu- 
larly for him and Herbert, the loosing of any religious 
bond. Personal preference made the change agree- 
able to her, but she cared more for the welfare of 
her husband and children than her own gratification, 
and was ever ready to subordinate her wishes to 
their good. When Mr. Staincliffe, however, showed 
hi nself thoroughly determined to leave the chapel, 
( 92 ) 


Broken Bands. 93 

she acquiesced, and did her utmost to induce his 
regular attendance at Brindley village church. 

The grandmotherabsolutely refused to break with 
the old place. She had been a member for fifty 
years. Born and reared in Methodism, her whole 
life spent within the circle of its influences, she had 
no taste for other communions, and would have felt 
lost at the church. She quietly deplored the differ- 
ences which had arisen to occasion her son’s removal, 
without really knowing what the differences were. 
She reminded him of the memories by which the 
place had become endeared to her. She uttered a 
mild protest against his removal. She pointed out 
to him the duty of forgiveness. When she saw it 
was no use, she submitted to the inevitable, so far as 
the rest of the family were concerned, but main- 
tained her own right to continue in association with 
the people among whom she had spent all her days. 
Six months after the removal, she passed peacefully 
away, and with her burial (for her request that Mr. 
Tremayne should officiate at her funeral was faithful- 
ly observed) — the last tie was snapped betw^een 
Deerhill and Methodism. 

The main difficulty was with Lizzie. To her the 
blow was a double one, for her father conveyed to 
her at the same time his wish that she should leave 
the Sunday-school, and his refusal to allow the en- 
gagement between her and Tom Cresswell. Her 
face grew very pale, and her brow contracted as if 
in physical pain. 

“I cannot understand it, father, ” said she. ‘^If 
you forbid my engagement with Tom, I must obey 


94 


T'he Fall of the StaincUffes, 

you, ” and her voice sank almost to a v^hisper, but 
I do not know why you should forbid it. ” Mr. 
StainclifTe made no reply, and she continued, in 
tremulous tones, and with tears in her eyes, “ But 
the Sunday-school: to leave that would be a great 
grief to me. ” 

“ I will not insist upon your leaving the Sun* 
day-school, Lizzie. Only I would rather you did 
leave.” 

“ Why, father? ” 

“ Because I have been obliged myself to withdraw 
from the chapel, and intend, with your mother, and 
Herbert and Belle, attending Brindley Church, I 
would like us all to go to the same place. ” 

“ I might go with you to Brindley Church for the 
services, and still attend the Sunday-school atSunny- 
bank in the afternoons. ” 

“That would be too much for you, Lizzie. Brind- 
ley Church is in the opposite direction, and to attend 
both would make Sunday a very hard day for you.” 

‘‘ I would not mind that, father, if you would 
give me your consent.” 

“There is a Sunday-school connected with 
Brindley Church. Why not become a teacher 
there ? ” i 

“I am organist at Sunnybank, father. The class 
I teach has been mine a long time, and the girls are 
attached to me. Some of them belong to homes 
where it is a continual struggle for them to do right, 
and they depend upon me for help; and if I were 
gone, I am afraid they would give up the struggle, 
and become, like those about them, careless and 


Broken Bands, 


95 


wicked. Then I have charge of the preparatory 
class for the examination. And I am on the library 
committee, and secretary of the sewing meeting, 
and, oh, dear! I don’t know what beside. It would 
be very hard to leave, father. ” 

“ Please yourself, Lizzie. You may stay if you 
like. But my wish is to sever the family from all 
connection with the place. ” 

‘‘I would not oppose your wish, father, and yet 
I should like to attend Sunnybank if it were pos- 
sible. ” 

The result was that Lizzie continued to teach at 
Sunnybank for several weeks, but found that it was 
displeasing to her father, and not much favored by 
the rest of the family. The grandmother was the 
only exception. Mrs. Staincliffe thought that Lizzie 
might be as useful at Brindley Sunday school as at 
Sunnybank, and would rather have had her entirely 
with them. So Lizzie sorrowfully withdrew from 
the place she loved, unable to make the explana- 
tions which would have revealed dissension in the 
feelings of the family, and yet which her fellow 
teachers surmised, and devoted herself to the Sun- 
day-school at Brindley, being welcomed there as a 
valuable acquisition, and speedily winning her way 
to the hearts of all. 

It may seem strange that Lizzie gave up, without 
any contention, the idea of a sanctioned engagement 
with Tom Cresswell. But she and Tom had talked 
the matter over. She had met Tom on the very 
evening of his interview with Mr. Staincliffe. They 
yvere both in attendance at ^ librarjr committee 


90 


The Fall of the Staincliffes, 


meeting at the school, and it was only natural for 
Lizzie to want to know what kind of a reception 
Tom had met with on a quest so important to her 
future happiness. She was astounded at what Tom 
told her. She could see no reason for her father’s 
refusal. She was inclined to be rebellious to paren- 
tal authority for the first time since her childhood. 
When the rebellious feeling faded her eyes filled 
with tears, and she looked pathetically at Tom. 
But his face was calm. He seemed not in the least de- 
gree disturbed. He said the opposition could not last. 
Her father was prejudiced against him from special 
causes that were strongly operating, causes which he 
could not fully discover, but which he felt sure 
would pass away. They were young. They were 
true to each other. They could wait. Lizzie 
gathered courage from Tom’s confidence, their love 
was tenderly re-plighted, and, hopeful young souls 
that they were, they looked forward to the time 
when their secret affection would be openly recog- 
nized. 

The changes in the domestic and social life of the 
Staincliffe’s were against their real welfare. The 
effect was manifest in the conduct of Mr. Staincliffe 
himself. His close connection, by official position 
and membership, with a place of worship where re- 
ligion in its stricter forms was professed and gener- 
ally observed, was a controlling influence, keeping 
him within bounds in many ways. The influence 
was supplemented by his mother’s presence and ex- 
ample. He had a fair regard for the claims of the 
church to consistency in Christian behavior. He 


Broken Bands. 


97 


would have shrunk from causing pain to his mother 
by any action contradictory to the profession of a 
religious life. But these bonds were broken. lie 
was no longer identified by membership with 
any church. The presence of his mother was not 
there now to exercise a wholesome restraint upon 
his actions. He was oftener in the company of men 
from whom he had hitherto held aloof. He visited 
more frequently the leading hotels in the town, os> 
tensibly for business purposes, but really for the 
sake of the people to be met there, and the oppor- 
tunity afforded by the visit of obtaining a view into 
transactions which he found to be increasingly at- 
tractive. It began to be whispered in the innei 
mercantile centers of the town that John Staincliffe 
was tempted to indulge in risky speculations ; that, 
if he did not mind, he would burn his fingers ; and 
that certain trust moneys placed in his hands by dif- 
ferent people, because of his good name, and long 
association with one of the leading places of wor- 
ship, were not over and above safe. He was on a 
slippery incline, and the bands that would have 
held him, and saved him, were broken, and mainly 
broken by his own hands. 

All this was not commonly known. Only a few 
noticed it. To the mass of the people John Staincliffe 
was still the same, and could be trusted by the ma- 
jority with almost any sum. His word was accepted 
without question. There were evidences in his be- 
havior which indicated a freer kind of life. Some 
regarded this as an improvement, — the natural con- 
sequence of his withdrawal from Methodism. He 


9g The Fall of the Staincliffes. 

had been too strait-laced to please them. The social 
side of his nature would now develop, and, in 
thought and feeling, he would become a more gener- 
ous man. His wife was not satisfied with the 
change. To her these evidences indicated not free- 
dom, but looseness. She would rather her husband 
had held to his old life. She saw the exciting 
effects of his speculations, although she knew next 
to nothing about them, and she regretted that the 
company he now cultivated took him away much 
more than formerly from home. 

It was commonly known that Herbert was be- 
coming a fast young man. The result of these 
broken bands were very apparent in his life. He had 
felt the restriction of the family connection with 
Methodism, and his own occasional attendance at 
the Sunday-school. He had tenderly revered his 
grandmother, and the thought of her disapproval 
had kept him out of many a snare. Now that she was 
gone, and the only religious ties which he had defi- 
nitely acknowledged were snapped, he felt 
more free to follow the bent of his evil inclinations. 

Dempster’s influence over him had grown greatly. 
It had become a customary thing, week by week, 
to bet upon sports of all kinds, and to straighten ofi 
the accounts quarterly, when Herbert’s allowance 
was due. Sometimes Herbert had money to draw, 
but oftener his money found its way into Dempster’s 
pocket. Not only with Dempster, but with others 
to whom Dempster introduced him, Herbert regu- 
larly betted, and for this purpose was in the habit of 
visiting the ‘‘Green Dragon^” the rendezvous of the 


Broken Bands, 


99 


gamblers and sporting men of the town. Here he 
met Dick Pashley, and several other old school- 
mates, now grown into fast young men; and, in ad- 
dition to gambling, Herbert indulged in liquor, and 
went home occasionally so nearly intoxicated as to 
awaken the suspicion of his mother and sisters con- 
cerning his habits and company. 

He was on the downward path, and it was easy 
going. The influences that would have restrained 
him were removed. The gradient became steeper, 
and every month the speed of his descent was accel- 
erated. He became more and more careless. His 
father was not deeply concerned about him, because 
he did not see how far he had already gone. He 
thought that the course he was pursuing was entered 
upon by most young men who had money enough 
to do it, and that, after tasting his folly, the exper- 
ience would be a greater safeguard to him in the future. 
His own looser life blinded him to the serious peril 
in which his son was placed, and led him silently 
to excuse what at one time he would have loudly 
condemned. Mrs. Stainclifle was very anxious about 
Herbert. She saw more than the father, and feared 
greatly that Herbert was hastening into bad ways. 
The late home-coming, the untidy appearance, the 
smell of smoke and liquor, the morning headaches 
and loss of appetite, the waning pleasure in inno- 
cent pastimes, the uneven temper, the disinclination 
to confidential talk, the lack of consideration for 
herself and his two sisters, the hardening selfishness 
of his dispostion, the departed freshness and bloom 
of his young nature, — these, and other matters, his 


lOO 


The Fall of the Staincliffes, 


mother noticed. She grieved quietly at the altera- 
tion, and prayed that God would restore him to his 
former self and ways. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE “ GREEN DRAGON.” 


HE “ Green Dragon” was an old-fashioned 



i building, with peaked and projecting gables, 
diamond-paned casement windows, a low, wide 
doorway sunk two steps below the street, and an 
external appearance of respectable dinginess which 
belied the anything but respectable dinginess within. 
It was a house with a multitude of small, angular, 
queer-shaped rooms, insufficiently lighted, with low 
ceilings of oak, darkened by smoke and age. It had 
been an important hotel once, when Easingholme 
was a little country town, and knew nothing of the 
outside world but what the stage-coach brought 
twice a week, as it pulled up to change horses at 
the “Green Dragon.” Since the railway was made, 
however, and Easingholme had grown into a thriv- 
ing commercial center, the “ Green Dragon” had 
been pushed back and back by the new streets and the 
large ware houses, and had deteriorated so rapidly, 
morally as well as in other ways, that it was now 
one of the most shady houses in the town. 

Its out-of-the-way situation, and the awkward 
arrangement of its numerous rooms, made it a 
convenient place for the gathering of the fraternity 
who get their living by piracy upon their fellow-men. 
They could be secluded for gambling purposes in 
one or another of the rooms, and, should the police 


( 101 ) 


102 


The Fall of the Staincliffes. 

make their appearance, or any suspected stranger, 
who might have come to pry into the secrets of the 
place, timely notice could be given, the cards could 
be hidden, and those who wished could safely make 
their escape. 

A noisy company was assembled at the “ Green 
Dragon.” Four or five had been lingering about 
the place all day ; killing time by looking at dogs, 
mostly cropped-eared bull and terriers and gaunt 
greyhounds, and sauntering in and out of the 
stable, where two ponies and one large brow’n mare 
were fastened in their stalls. As evening ap- 
proached, and one after another began to drop in, 
they made their way to a room in the second story 
and at the back of the building. Glasses were 
brought, pipes were lit, greasy cards were circu- 
lated, the talk grew louder and the spirits of the 
company more hilarious. 

“ That was a queer cove we had in the railway 
train, Jim,” said one. 

“ Ay,” said Jim, with an oath which was fre- 
quently upon the lips of the whole company. 

“Who was it, Zachy?” shouted a rough young 
fellow from across the room. 

“How do I know!” said Zachy. “But he was 
a rum cove, and no mistake. I thought he was a 
parson at first, but I don't believe he was. He’d 
too much sense for a parson, ” at which statement 
most of the company burst into loud laughter. 

“ What about him, Zachy? Come, let’s hear, if 
it’s worth bearin’ ! ” shouted the same young fellow. 
Keep thee tongue still till this game’s out, and 


The Green Dragon.^" 103 

then,” said Zachy; and having finished the game, 
and seen the stakes swept into the hand of a com- 
panion, he commenced his tale, often interrupting 
its course by senseless and shocking oaths. 

“Jim, and Will Dander, and myself made up a 
little sharping party last Friday, and took tickets 
from Saxby to Eltonburn, thinking to do a bit of 
business on the line. At Spen Junction, the first 
stopping-place, in jumps this cove, with a Quaker 
hat, and a short, black jacket, and grey eyes that 
twinkled deep down in his head like the eyes of a 
hawk. He had red, bushy whiskers, and was big 
enough to pitch us all three out of the winder. He 
seemed poor game, but we had to try him or no- 
body. I tipped the wink to Dander, and he drew 
out the cards and laid them on his knee, and axed, 
likerDander does ax, with a face as solid as cast-iron, 
and as if we was the biggest strangers in the 
world, if we would join him in a friendly game. 
< Don’t mind much, ’ said I; ‘what do you say?’ 
turning to Jim; but Jim wouldn’t. No! not by no 
manner o’ means. Jim was too religious like; 
didn’t believe in it; and all that. But at last he 
gave in. Dander looked at the cove with the grey 
eyes, and said, ‘You’ll take a hand, guv’nor? ’ ‘ No,’ 
said he, shaking his big beard, and smiling under 
his moustache. ‘ For tanners? ’ said Dander, fixing 
low enough to draw the cove on, but he said ‘ No !’ 
again. ‘ Why, you might win,’ said Dander. ‘Yes,’ 
said he, ‘ and then somebody would lose, and I 
should have given him nothing for his money.’ 
Dander was taken aback, and said, ‘Nothing for 


104 Fall of the Stainclijfes, 

his money! What do you mean?’ ‘I’m a trades- 
man,’ said he, ‘ and when I get money from anyone, 
I give them something for it, something likely, 
something worth the money I get. Here's a suit of 
clothes,’ said he, pointin’ to a parcel by his side. 
‘A man will give me two pounds ten to-day, and 
he’ll get these in return. If I took his money, and 
he didn’t get these, I should be a big rogue, 
shouldn’t I?’ and he looked at Jim and me, and we 
laughed. ‘ No! no ! ’ he said, ‘ it wouldn’t be fair 
for me to play and win; and I am sure it wouldn’t 
be fair for me to play and lose,’ and the cove shook 
his big beard again, and smiled under his moustache. 
We knew by his grey eyes that it was no go, and 
Dander slipped back the cards into his pocket. He 
was a rum cove, wasn’t he ? ” 

The company expressed their satisfaction at the 
story by a loud peal of laughter, and settled again 
to their gam^bling, smoking, and drinking. 

“ I say, Zachy, ” said Jim, in an undertone, “ is 
Sol cornin’ to-night?” 

“Ay, and Quance from London. He has game 
in this neighborhood,” responded Zachy. 

“ How did Sol and Quance get together?” 

“ Sol picked him up at Westonleigh. They went 
shares. Sol brought the fish to the net, and Quance 
cooked ’em.” 

“Will young Staincliffe come with ’em? He 
owes me a fiver, and I could do with it,” said Jim. 

“If he doesn’t come with ’em, he’ll come after,” 
said Zachy. “ Hallo ! here they are ! ” 

There was a stir in the room as Dempster walked 


The Green Dragon,^'^ 105 

in with a companion not known to them all. The 
companion, a slim, undersized man, in a cut-away 
coat, fancy waistcoat, tight-fitting check trousers, 
light brown gaiters and patent leather boots, with 
an abundance of dirty linen on his narrow chest and 
around his thin, bony wrists, attracted general atten- 
tion, and his attire would certainly have provoked 
laughter but for a certain knowing look upon his 
clean shaven face which commanded the admiration 
of the company. It was a face in which the boy- 
ish appearance had been arrested before it had quite 
faded away, and yet in which dwelt the expiession 
of a hardened and shameless manhood, — one of 
those peculiar faces that never indicate a man’s age. 
Quance might have been any age between 
twenty-five and fifty, and it was parti}" this 
uncertain age, with the experience that might be 
behind it, that gave him his position among the 
sporting class to which he belonged. 

He recognized Jim and Zachy, and greeted them 
by an odd contortion of one side of his face. He 
went across the room, and sat down beside them. 
Dempster joined another group, at a table where 
Dick Pashley was loudly boasting about his money 
and skill, as if both were inexhaustible. He soon 
drew Dick, and two others, who were perfectly 
willing, because of Dick’s half intoxicated condition, 
to try their skill against his, and line their pockets 
with his money, into an absorbing game. While they 
were thus busily engaged, Herbert Stainclifie came 
in, and answered Quance’s call by seating himself 
at the same table. 


2o6 


The Pall of the Staincliffes, 

“You’ll have a drink, StainclifTe? ” said Quance. 

“ Cannot do much without,” said Herbert, as he 
handed his cigar-case to the three, and then took a 
cigar himself. 

Qiiance beckoned the waiter, and ordered for the 
four, pressing his hand as he gave the order. 
Glasses w^ere brought, and brandy placed before 
Herbert, whisky before Jim and Zachy, and a clear, 
colorless liquid before Quance. Hot water was 
added to the drinks of the three, and Quance added 
cold to his. 

‘‘What do you drink, Quance?” 

“Gin,” he replied, with a straight look at Her- 
bert, intended to quiet suspicion. “I always drink 
gin. It’s my favorite beverage.” 

The cards were dealt out, Quance exhibiting par- 
ticular skill in handling them both then and after- 
wards. The money was staked, and won; and new 
stakes were put down, and won ; Herbert sweep- 
ing both into his palm, and drinking the more freely 
because luck was with him. The game deep- 
ened in interest, the stakes grew higher, and now 
Jim, now Quance, now Zachy gathered up the 
coins, Herbert only winning occasionally, until, 
twice out of three, Quance was the fortunate man. 
Herbert drained one glass after another unthink- 
ingly, and became terribly excited; Jim and Zachy 
drank freely, but, being used to it, kept their heads 
fairly well; while Quance sipped away, and played 
on as cool as if it were the ordinary business of his 
life. Herbert’s cash was getting low, and he was 
about staking all he had left in a final game, when 


The Green Dragon^ 107 

the whole company was startled by a loud roar 
from Dick Pashley, who jumped from his seat, 
swore at Dempster, calling him all the vile and ugly 
names he could think of, and then rushed round the 
table intending to strike him to the floor. But Dick 
was very unsteady. One of the company thrust out his 
leg, and Dick fell over it, striking his head against 
the table. He was quiet enough now, and the man 
who had tripped him up, said, — 

“ Here, waiter; drag Dick out, and pack him off 
in a cab to the ‘Talbot’ You may find a ‘bob’ in 
his pocket for your trouble.” 

While Dick was being removed, Dempster came 
slowly across the room to Herbert, and watched him 
play his cards. He lost the stakes, and the money 
went into Quance’s pocket. 

“ There,” he hiccoughed. I’m cleared out. Can 
you lend me a trifle, Dempster?” 

“ How much do you want?” 

“ Lend me ten pounds.’^ 

It was counted into his hand and the game be- 
gan again. Herbert continued drinking, played 
more and more recklessly, and the ten pounds 
speedily vanished. He looked fiercely at Quance, 
whose coolness struck even his dulled senses as un- 
natural. Before his hand could be arrested he had 
picked up Qiiance’s glass and drunk off its contents, 
and, maddened to find that Quance had been drink- 
ing not gin, but water, and taking advantage of his 
intoxication to win his money, he dashed the glass 
into Quance’s face. The sharp edge of the glass 
struck him on the cheek-bone. With the blood 


io8 The Fall of the Staincliffes. 

trickling down his cheek, he leaped towards Her- 
bert, and dealt him several heavy blows. Herbert, 
though wild with passion, was incapable of self-de- 
fence, and soon, by the help of Dempster, had to be 
carried downstairs. Cold water was thrown into 
his face to sober him, and cleanse away the dust; 
and, when sufficiently steady for the journey, 
Dempster saw him out of the town, and part of the 
way to Deerhill. 

Lizzie and Isabel sat up that night waiting for 
him. Mr. and Mrs. Staincliffe had retired to their 
bedroom — the mother after waiting an hour, and 
waiting in vain. Hitherto she had stayed until he 
came, however late it was, but to-night she was 
wearied, and he was much later than usual. He 
had often come home with a wild look in his eyes, 
and a trifle unsteady in his gait, but never quite in- 
toxicated; and Mrs. Stainclifle had not even the 
shadow of a thought as to his condition to-night, or 
she would not have left the two girls up to receive 
him. 

Go to bed, mother,” said Belle, “ we’ll wait for 
him.” 

“I think I will, my dear,” said the mother. “ I 
feel very tired.” 

“You look tired,” Belle replied, kissing her. 

“ He won’t be long now. Don’t bother him when 
he comes. Let him go quietly upstairs. And then 
you get off to bed as quickly as you can,” said the 
mother, hoping he would not be so bad as she had 
seen him, and that his sisters would not discover he 
had been drinking. 


The Green Dragon^'* 109 

“ Good night, mother,” said Lizzie, pathetically 
kissing her on both cheeks, for Lizzie had divined 
the mother’s meaning. 

“ Good-night,” said Belle, kissing her again, and 
ligl^tly, for Bello had no idea that the mother 
wished to hide anything from them concerning their 
wayward brother. 

Midnight came, and Belle shivered. She had 
been reading and nodding by the fire, and the fire 
had burned low. Lizzie was writing at the table. 

“How cold it is!” said Belle. “What on earth 
can be keeping Herbert till this time?” 

Lizzie went on with her writing, and Belle poked 
the fire, and returned to the nodding and reading. 
One o’clock came, and still no sound of Herbert. 
At a quarter-past one Scamp’s deep bark resounded 
through the yard, and softened down into a mournful 
whine, as stumbling steps were heard approaching 
the door. As Lizzie went to open the door she 
heard a drunken oath thrown at the dog, which 
prepared her for Herbert’s appearance; and yet, 
when she opened the door, and the light streamed 
out upon him, she was shocked to see his dirty, 
blood-stained, besotted form. She involuntarily 
cried out, — 

“ Oh ! Herbert ! ” 

“ What’s the matter?” said Belle, running to the 
door. When she saw her brother, she was like one 
stunned by a blow. 

“Aren’t you going to let me in?” said Herbert, 
stammeringly, and with thick utterance. 

They stepped aside, and he staggered through 


110 


The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

the vestibule, and into the dining-room. Closing 
the door, they followed him, and found him in an 
easy -chair. 

“I am very poorly, Lizzie,” he said, rolling his 
head about, which was bruised and swollen, partly 
by Quance’s blows, and partly by two or three 
falls on the way home. “ Is there any brandy in 
the decanter ” 

“You must go to bed, Herbert,” said Lizzie, and 
after looking stupidly at the two sad faces fora little 
while, he seemed dimly to realize that he presented 
a painful spectacle, and that they were inexpressibly 
shocked at his condition. He submitted to be led 
upstairs, his sisters supporting him on both sides, 
and was soon heavily sleeping in his bedroom. 

Belle had not spoken since she saw him at the 
door. She now asked, — 

“Did you expect this, Lizzie?” 

“ No, my dear,” said Lizzie, bursting into tears, 
“ not all this, but I knew that Herbert had not been 
steady lately.” 

Belle did not weep. Her surprised and anxious 
face became fixed and stern, as she said, — 

“What a fool he is! I’ll tell him what I think 
about him to-morrow. I’m so glad mother didn’t 
see him. If he has a conscience anywhere. I’ll find 
it, and make him so thoroughly ashamed of himself, 
that I hope he’ll never come home again in that 
condition. We mustn’t tell mother, Lizzie. We 
must keep it to ourselves.” 

“ Nay, not to ourselves, Belle,” responded Lizzie. 
“We must tell One about it, who can hear us 


The “ Green Dr agon T 


III 


when we pray, and who can help us when we try to 
save Herbert from this terrible sin. If we both pray, 
Belle,” and she put her arm about her sister’s 
neck, and, drawing her close, tenderly kissed her, 
“and if we both try very hard to save him, we may 
do it; and then mother need never know about to- 
night.” 

Belle’s fixed and stern face relaxed, and there crept 
into her eyes the soft look of loving pity. 


CHAPTER XI. 


DUNSFORD RACES. 


ELLE was true to her word. The loving pity 



awakened by Lizzie’s appeal did not quite 
pass away. Beneath the bitter reflection on Her- 
bert’s wickedness during the remainder of the night 
— for Belle slept little — she became stern again, and 
resolved, though there was compassion in the re- 
solve, to talk plainly to him in the morning. When 
she saw him in the morning, with his heavy eyes, 
and countenance held down in shame, and to con- 
ceal the marks of bruises here and there, finger- 
ing his bread and butter, but not eating it, a picture 
of misery, her compassion increased ; not so much, 
however, as to interfere with the resolve she had 
formed of giving him a piece of her mind. 

As he went down the drive, on his way to busi- 
ness, she followed him. 

“ You were in a nice pickle when you came 
home last night, Herbert.” He made no answer. 
“ Whatever were you doing to get into that state ? ” 

‘‘ Hold your tongue. Belle. It is no business of 
yours.” 

“ I shall not hold my tongue, and it is business of 
mine. You cannot make a fool of yourself without 
becoming a disgrace to the family. If anyone saw 
you last night, they wouldn’t think of you simply, 
but of us, and of you as the heir of Deerhill. A smart 


( 112 ) 


Dmisford Races, 113 

man you will be to carry forward the family for- 
tunes.” Herbert’s brow contracted beneath the 
taunt, and he bit his lips savagely. “ Supposing 
mother had been up last night ! ” continued Belle. 
“ It was a good thing she had retired, and did not 
see you; but she must have noticed your handsome 
looks this morning.” 

“ Belle ! be quiet,” said he, with an impatient 
movement of his hand, and an expression of pain 
upon his face. 

Belle looked at him, and her resolve melted 
away. The tears welled up, and she said, — 

“ Oh, Herbert, I’m very, very sorry. You must 
forgive me. But I was grieved, deeply grieved to 
see you last night. You’ll be a better man, I know. 
Good-bye! ” and she held up her face, and Herbert 
hastily kissed her. 

As he walked into Easingholme, he thought over 
Belle’s words, and, notwithstanding her sudden 
change of feeling, allowed the words to make him 
harder and more sullen. He entered the office in a 
very rebellious mood — disinclined for work, and out 
of joint with all his duties. His father had pre- 
ceded him to business, and, as he passed out of the 
office to an engagement in the town, he looked at 
Herbert reproachfully, but said nothing. Herbert 
did not know whether his father was aware of his 
condition the night before, and therefore could not 
tell all that was conveyed by that reproachful look. 
The uncertainty made him more rebellious. The 
father had no idea that Herbert had come home in- 
toxicated. He was simply displeased at his late 


1 14 The Fall of the Staincliffes. 

arrival home the previous evening, and now at his 
late arrival at business — habits which were not likely 
to fit his son for the anticipated successful career. 

After Mr. Staincliffe had left the office, Dempster 
came round the partition, and said, — 

What do you say to a visit to Dunsford to-mor- 
row?” 

Are you going?” 

“ If I can get leave.” 

“ You’ll not get leave to attend the races.” 

“I can make other business,” said Dempster, with 
a leer. “ I have a sick grandmother in Dunsford. 
Will you go?” 

“What time do you start? ” 

“ By the eight-thirty.” 

“I’ll be there,” and Herbert turned to his desk, 
and opened the ledger, under the pretence of mak- 
ing an entry. 

Herbert lingered behind that evening until his 
father and the cashier had gone. Twoose was in 
the office addressing letters, the office lad was 
waiting to take them to the post, but no one else 
was on the premises. Herbert entered his father’s 
private apartment, and Twoose, having already no- 
ticed that Herbert had lingered behind, and, on the 
alert for anything unusual, heard the click of a 
lock twice. When Herbert came out, and went 
away, Twoose was still busy with his letters, and 
did not betray the slightest suspicion of Herbert’s 
proceedings. He had carefully dotted down every- 
thing on the tablet of his retentive memory, never- 
theless, 


Dunsford Races, 1 1 5 

For some time Herbert had not spent a whole 
evening at home. His early return, and inclination 
to remain, were a welcome sign to his mother and 
sisters. The mother joined in a game of lawn ten- 
nis, and she and Herbert played the two sisters. 
Belle was as gracious as she could be, and in many 
little affectionate ways tried to atone for what she 
had said in the morning. Lizzie bestowed her 
sweetest smiles upon him, while she vigorously re- 
plied to his dealing across the netted lawn, and in 
her unobtrusive fashion, and by playing her best-— 
for he liked good playing — showed how much she 
appreciated his presence at home. His mother 
seconded his efforts right well, winning his com- 
mendation, and eliciting frequent playful comparir 
sons between her angilityand thatof her daughters, 
to her own praise; and, as they went in, she quietly 
expressed the pleasure it had given her to have him 
with them all the evening, and hoped he would 
favor them oftener with his company. 

And how did Herbert feel under all this ? He 
responded to it as well as he could. He tried to 
forget yesterday. He would not allow himself to 
think about to-morrow. He gave himself up to the 
delightful sensation of being admired and entertained 
by the loving trio, but there was the feeling behind 
it all that he was not worthy of their affectionate en- 
deavors, and that their endeavors were an innocent 
subterfuge to cover their remembrance and forgive- 
ness of the night before. There was also the intention 
of grieving them still further by his conduct on the 
morrow, and bringing a still greater sh^me upon 


ii6 The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

them — an intention not mentally asserting itself 
while the play was going on, and yet of which he 
was sufficiently conscious to feel uneasy in pleas- 
antly leceiving their attentions. He felt more like 
a hypocrite than ever he had done before. 

Next morning at eight-thirty he was at the sta- 
tion. Several of his sporting acquaintances nodded 
their recognitions, and then winked slyly at each 
other. Dempster was looking out for him, they 
entered a carriage together, and were soon whirling 
away, amid the noisy talk of a motley company, to 
their destination. 

As Herbert stepped outside Dunsford Station, 
and the familiar buildings met his eye, he thought 
of Kate, and wondered whether he should meet 
her to-day. Dempster hailed a hansom, and the 
thought of Kate was driven from Herbert’s mind by 
the bustle of the crowded streets on the way to the 
course, and, while on the course, by the excitement 
attending the races. The grand stand was filled. 
Ladies of rank, representing the very flower of fash- 
ion, formed in groups, and flitted to and fro 
among their friends, giving to the raised platform a 
gay and animated appearance. Gentlemen of nobility 
and wealth, many well-known in high political 
circles, some connected with leading educational 
establishments, a few associated with literature and 
art, and among them a sprinkling of successful 
commercial men, discussed with each other the 
probabilities of the day. The edge of the course 
was lined with thousands of people, all more or less 
personally interested in the races; carriages were 


Dunsford Races, 


117 

drawn up here and there, with fair occupants re- 
clining in them, or standing erect to' examine 
through binoculars other fair occupants in car- 
riages on the opposite side; and, further back, 
out of the press, itinerant showmen of various 
kinds, from the acrobat who can carry all his be- 
longings under his arm, with the exception of the 
two slight children that follow him, or the set of 
poodle dogs that trot by his side, to the proprietor 
of the gilded caravan, with the spacious canvas tent 
behind, and the variety entertainment to suit all 
comers. A few gipsy women, with their restless 
black eyes searching everywhere, were to be seen — 
their tents were away on the sheltered corner of a 
neighboring common; and men of an uneasy 
countenance, with a propensity to plant a camp- 
stool, and suddenly gather a company about them, 
moved in and out of the crowds, among which lat- 
ter Herbert recognized his acquaintance of the 

Green Dragon” — Quance, from London. 

Drinking places were abundant, and into one of 
these Herbert and Dempster went soon after reach- 
ing the course. By noon Herbert was intoxicated. 
He was not in a fit condition to handle money, and, 
because of recent losses, he had not much to handle. 
He had already staked more than he was worth. 
Upon coming into the open air, and mingling with 
the excited crowds, he caught the prevailing fever, 
and began to boast about his ventures on this horse 
and that. Dempster introduced him to a friend 
whom he had met upon the course — Bob Winton, 
as Dempster familiarly called him — apd with thi§ 


ii8 The Fall of the Stainclifes, 

man Herbert was induced to bet heavily, and to re- 
tire with him to one of the drinking places to ce- 
ment their transactions and to increase their good 
fellowship. Here Dempster left him. He had 
other work in hand, partly in cojijunction with 
Quance and partly on his own account. He had 
obtained as much out of Herbert as he could well 
get, and Herbert’s intoxicated and excited condi- 
tion would have hindered him in carrying out his 
plans. 

When Winton left, Herbert persisted in accom* 
panying him. Winton tried to dodge him several 
times, but Herbert kept his eyes on him, and dived 
after him through the crowds, until they came be- 
side a waggonette in which were a party of ladies 
and gentlemen. Affecting not to notice Herbert, 
as if he did not know him, and as if Herbert had 
accidentally wandered there in his intoxication, 
Winton began to converse with the occupants of 
the vehicle. A voice fell on Herbert’s ears which 
caused him to start and look up; and then say,— 
Hal — loa ! Kate ! you here. How are you? ” 

Kate looked down in surprise. Her face grew 
pad. She bent down to him, and said,— 

“Herbert! I am very sorry to see you like 
this.” 

“ Wh — y! what’s the matter, Kate?” he stam- 
piered. 

“I think you had better leave the course, and go 
home.” 

‘‘ Not I,” said Herbert, with a laugh. Haven’t 
I come to s— ee the races ? And I won’t go home 



Duns ford Radts, 1 19 

linlil I’ve 1 — ined iiiy pockets well. H— ere’s Win- 
ton, I shall want nearly fifty pounds from him.” 

Kate looked sharply round at Winton. During 
her conversation with Herbert she had felt that the 
eyes of the waggonette party were on her. The 


color had mounted to her cheeks, and she had bent 
low to whisper to Herbert. Now, when Winton’s 
name was mentioned, she looked sharply round, and 
said, — 

“ Mr. Winton, do you know this gentleman?” 

“ Not very well. Not so well as you, apparently,” 


120 


The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

which brought the color back again to Kale s cheeks. 
“ I was introduced to him by Dempster a little 
while ago.” 

By Dempster ! ” said Kate, arching her eye- 
brows. Ihen, in an altered and serious tone, “Will 
you oblige me, Mr. Winton? ” 

“ In what way, Miss Fairfax?” 

“By persuading this gentleman to leave the 
course, and seeing him safely in the train to Easing- 
holme.” 

“ With pleasure, it the gentleman will go.’ 

‘‘Allow Mr. Winton to see you away, Herbert, 
will you?” 

“What! Before the races are over! No, Kate. 
I’ve come to s — ee the races, and to take money 
back with me ! ” 

“We could accomodate him in the waggonette, 
Miss Fairfax, if you wish it,” said a young man, 
bending to whisper to her; but before she could re- 
ply, the attention of the whole party was arrested 
by a ringing cheer. She turned to the course, with 
the rest, and watched the horses sweep along in the 
last and most important race of the day; only for a few 
moments was she carried away by the excitement; 
and, while the others were yet straining their eyes 
to see the horses round the curve in the distance, 
she turned again to find Herbert, but he was gone. 
The cheer had fired his brain. He had worked his 
way to the front, and, by the time the horses were 
in sight again, he was within view of them, and 
cheering as madly as the maddest. 

It was soon over. The crowds began to disperse; 


Dunsford Races. 121 

the drinking places began to fill; a general commo- 
tion set in; and when it dawned upon Herbert 
that he had lost his money it went far towards so- 
bering him, and made him think about going home. 
But Winton was not far away. And Dempster and 
Quance were both on the look-out for him. They 
drove into Dunsford, spent the night in a wild ca- 
rousal, and parted, under promise of meeting next 
morning at the same hotel to balance the monetary 
transactions of the day. 

There was only one house in Dunsford to which 
Herbert could go. He never thought about the 
shock he would give them, or the trouble he would 
put them to, by presenting himself so late and in 
an intoxicated condition. If he had not been intox- 
icated, he would have obtained a bed at the hotel; 
but he staggered forth, found his way to his Aunt 
Ellen’s, and violently pulled the bell. Kate had 
not told her mother that she had seen him on the 
race-course. 

Mrs. Fairfax was pained beyond measure at his 
appearance. The sad looks and silence of Mrs. 
Fairfax and Kate made some impression even upon 
his dulled senses. He realized somewhat the state 
he was in, and, with a stammering excuse, he speed- 
ily retired, stumbling upstairs to the bedroom he 
had occupied during his pleasant visit some time be- 
fore. He flung himself on the bed, dressed as he 
was, and fell into a drunken sleep. 


CHAPTER Xli* 


MISSING 


N the day of the Dunsford races Mr. Staincliffe 



came home to tea. When they were seated 
at the table, he looked round, and said, — 

“ Where’s Herbert?” 

“ He has not come home yet, father,” answered 
Lizzie. 

“ Not come home. Why ! where has he been? ” 

“ Hasn’t he been at the office? ” asked Mrs. Stain- 
cliffe. 

“ No ! ” 

“ Then I cannot tell where he is.” Lizzie and 
Bell exchanged uneasy glances, and the mother 
continued, — “ He left home this morning before you. 
He had an early breakfast, and hurried away.” 

‘‘ I haven’t seen his face to-day,” said the father. 
“ He ought to have mentioned it to me if he in- 
tended absenting himself from business. Let me 
know when he comes home.” 

The evening passed quietly away. Mr. Staincliffe 
spent an hour or two reading, and the rest of the 
time sat at his desk carefully examining a set of 
papers. At ten o’clock he said, — 

“ Has Herbert arrived ? ” 

“No !” answered Mrs. Staincliffe. 

“ He’s very late. Wherever has he gone? We’d 
better have supper without him, Louey.” 


( 122 ) 


Missing, 123 

Supper was served and cleared away. Lizzie and 
Belle chatted together about a new piece of music. 
Mr. Staincliffe settled down to his reading again. 
Mrs. Staincliffe was anxious about her son. When 
the clock struck eleven, Mr. Staincliffe said, — 

“ No Herbert yet. I must go to bed, and reckon 
with him in the morning.” 

Mrs. Staincliffe sat up very late that night. Her 
daughters wished her to retire. They said they 
would wait for Herbert. But she had been suspi- 
cious about his home-coming the other evening when 
the girls had remained up for him, and she feared he 
might return to-night intoxicated. She could not 
bear the thought of leaving the girls to receive him 
in such a condition. So she kindly, but firmly, in- 
sisted that they should go to their bedroom, and she 
would stay and let Herbert in. The girls left her 
before the dining-room fire. She waited long, the 
the clock striking twelve, then one, and at last she 
dropped asleep in the chair. She awoke with a 
start, and heard Scamp in the kitchen barking in a 
sharp, short way, a kind of half-bark and half-yelp; 
and she felt afraid for a moment, until she remem- 
bered that it was Scamp’s habit, while dreaming, to 
relieve himself in this mannner. She looked at the 
clock. It wanted a quarter to three. Wearily and 
sadly she sought her room, thinking it was little 
use waiting longer, — that, wherever Herbert was, 
he was not likely to return before the dawn of the 
day. 

“What time did Herbert come home last night?” 
asked Mr. Staincliffe at breakfast next morning. 


124 The Tall of the Staincliffes. 

“ He did not come at all,” said his wife. 

“What!” exclaimed Mr. Staincliffe, dropping 
his napkin, and looking in astonishment at his 
wife’s distressed countenance. “ How long did you 
wait for him, Louey? ” 

“ Until nearly three o’clock.” 

“You might well look tired, my dear, stopping 
up all that time. Have you any idea where he has 
gone ? ” 

“ None whatever.” 

“ Nor you, girls? ” 

“No, father,” responded both of them. 

“ I must make some inquiries about him when I 
get into town,” said Mr. Staincliffe, and he ate a 
hurried breakfast, and went off to business earlier 
than usual. 

Upon arriving at the office he glanced round, and 
saw every clerk in his place except Dempster. He 
walked forward to his own apartment, and said, — 

“Tell Mr. Dempster that I wish to see him.” 

“ He hasn’t arrived yet, sir,” answered Twoose. 

“He should have been here half-an-hour ago. 
Tell him, when he comes, that I wish to see him at 
once.” 

Dempster did not arrive until after eleven o’clock. 
Twoose gave him the message. He knocked at Mr. 
Staincliffe’s apartment, and, in answer to the sum- 
mons, walked in. 

“ You’re late this morning,” said Mr. Staincliffe, 
looking at him sternly. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Why?” 


Missing, 125 

** I only came back from Dunsford this morn- 
ing.’’ 

“That is no excuse. You might have been here 
earlier. Why didn’t you return last night?” 

“ Because I couldn’t,” he replied, after some hesi- 
tation, not knowing what to say. 

“Did Herbert go to Dunsford with you yester- 
day ? ” asked Mr. Staincliffe, with a keen, and almost 
piercing, look. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“And you were on the racecourse?” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“Humph! And where did you leave Herbert 
last night? ” 

“ What did you say, sir?” asked Dempster, affect- 
ing not to have heard him, but really searching his 
mind for a reply. 

“ Where did you leave Herbert last night?” re- 
peated Mr. Staincliffe in loud and decided tones. 

“ In Graham Street.” 

“ You left him in the street. In what part of the 
street? And at what time? ” 

“ Outside the Graham Hotel, a little after eleven 
o’clock.” 

“ Haven’t you seen him since?” 

“No, sir.” 

“Well, look here, Dempster; if ever you and 
Herbert gooff again on a similar errand, or you your- 
self are not in your place at the proper time of a 
morning to do your own work, you will have finished 
with me. I won’t put up with it. You had better 
take the warning, and mend your ways. That’s 


126 The Patl of the Stainclzfes* 

all,” and he nodded towards the door, through which 
Dempster was glad to go. 

Mr. Staincliffe drove home to luncheon — quite an 
unusual event, but he was anxious to know whether 
Herbert had returned. He was still away, how- 
ever, and his mother and sisters were increasingly 
concerned about him. Luncheon passed without 
remark, and Lizzie and Belle went into the draw- 
ing room. When they were gone, Mrs. Staincliffe 
said, — 

“ Have you heard anything about him? ” 

“ Yes ! He went to Dunsford races with Dempster 
yesterday. He must be at Ellen’s, and will probably 
come home this evening. We need not trouble 
much about him now.” 

“ But I cannot help troubling, John. Will you 
run over to Dunsford, and see if he is there?” 

“No,Louey. Ido not think it would be wise. 
Let him come home of himself, and he will be the 
more likely to remember his folly.” 

“ But won’t you wire to Ellen, and ascertain 
whether he is there? ” 

“ What is the use? He must be either there or on 
his way home. Don’t distress yourself, Louey. 
He’ll come back all right, and if he sees that we are 
not over anxious about his return it may have a sal- 
utary effect upon him.” 

The day passed, and evening came, without the 
appearance, or any news about the missing one. 
Mr. Staincliffe said he would wait up for him, and 
did not doubt but that he would come. At one 
o’clock, however, when he had not arrived, he went 


Missing, 


127 


to his bedroom, to find his wife awake and alarmed. 
He quieted her fears by the promise that he would 
make full inquiries on the morrow. He could not 
quite conceal his own anxiety. There was very 
little sleep at Deerhill that night. Lizzie lay think- 
ing about her absent brother. Belle slept, but 
started in her dreams. Sleep could not allay her con- 
cern for her brother. Fantastic impossibilities 
were conjured up within her brain, and her sleep 
did her very little good. 

In the morning Mr. Staincliffe lingered over his 
breakfast, and seemed in no hurry to reach the 
town. He was clinging to the hope that Herbert 
would come betbre he started for business, and 
thereby relieve him from the humiliating necessity 
of making inquiries about him. When he did start, 
he allowed Juno to take her own pace, and arrived 
late at the office. 

After he was gone Mrs. Staincliffe called Lizzie 
into the library. 

We must do something to find Herbert, Lizzie.” 

Yes, mother. What can we do?” 

“ I want you to go into the town and see Tom 
Cresswell.” Lizzie’s face flushed, and her heart 
beat loudly. “You will find him at home about noon. 
Tell him about Herbert. Let him know everything. 
And ask him to go over to Dunsford and see Aunt 
Ellen, and bring Herbert back with him if he finds 
him there.” 

While this conversation was going on, and dur- 
ing Mr. Staincliffe’s drive to town, the manager and 
two directors of the Easingholme Banking Com- 


138 


The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

pany were talking earnestly to each other, and 
scrutinizing together the signature of a check which 
the manager held in his hands. Tom Cresswell 
was working at a desk a few paces away, and 
could not help overhearing a part of what was 
said. 

I fear it is the son’s doing,” said the manager. 

“ What a pity ! ” returned one of the directors. 
“ 1 have often noticed him, and thought him a fine 
young fellow.” 

“Yes! it is a pity,” said the other director. 
“Gambling is at the bottom of it, 1 feel sure. And 
I am sorry that Staincliffe himself is not so careful 
as he once was. He will go the wrong way if he 
does not mind.” 

“ You don’t mean to say that Staincliffe gambles, 
do you ?” 

“ Not in the ordinary sense, but I have reason to 
believe that he is being rather deeply drawn in by 
a not very respectable firm on Stock Exchange 
transactions.” Here the director’s voice dropped to 
a whisper, and Tom only heard an occasional word 
or two, as “trust moneys,” “ no scrip,” “ kept secret,” 
“a big smash some day.” The director again 
raised his voice, and said, “ I suppose we had bet- 
ter send this check to him, and find out whether it 
is genuine, and, if not, what he intends to do.” 

“ Certainly,” replied the manager. “But I feel 
sure it is not genuine. Cresswell can tell us. He 
is familiar with the writing of both, and we can 
trust him. He might take the check down to Mr. 
Staincliffe.” Raising his voice, he said, “Mr, 


Missing, 


129 


Cresswell ! ” Tom came forward. “ Will you please 
look at that check? ” Tom examined it. “Whose 
writing is it? ” 

“ Herbert StainclifTe's.” 

“You are quite sure about that? ” 

“ Quite.” 

“ And whose signature is it?” 

Tom looked at the check again, examined the 
signature carefully, and then said — 

“ I do not know.” 

“Is it Mr. Staincliffe’s? ” 

“No! ” 

“ Is it an imitation of his?” 

“ Undoubtedly.” 

“We want you to take the check down to Mr. 
Staincliffe’s office, and show it to him. Do not 
show it to anyone else. And ask him if the check 
is to be honored; or whether we arc to take means 
to find out the person in whose favor it is drawn, 
and ascertain from w'hom he had it.” 

Tom presented himself at Mr. Staincliffe’s office, 
and asked if he might see him. The messenger re- 
turned to say that Mr. Staincliffe was engaged and 
would he state his business. Tom replied that his 
business was private and important, and had no ref- 
erence to himself. Upon, this, he was shown into 
Mr. Staincliffe’s room. Without requesting him to 
sit down, Mr. Staincliffe asked him what he wanted. 
He handed him the check, and said, — 

“Will you please examine that, Mr. Staincliffe ?” 
Mr. Staincliffe caught his breath as he glanced at 
the writing, which he knew at once to be his son’s, 


130 The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

and then at the signature, which he also knew was 
not his own, but a fair imitation. 

‘‘Where did }/ou get it? ” he asked. 

“ The check was cashed at Dunsford yesterday, 
and sent to us this morning. The manager asked 
me to come down here with it, and ascertain your 
wishes concerning it.” 

“ Sit down, Tom. Do you know this man, — Win- 
ton ? ” 

“ No, sir ” 

“ Who do you think has signed the check, Tom ? ” 

“I would rather not say. The other part of the 
check is in Herbert’s hand.” 

“It is,” said Mr. Staincliffe ; and a spasm, as of 
physical pain, passed over his countenance. For 
some minutes he was perfectly quiet. Then he 
said, “I should not like this mentioned to anyone, 
Tom. Tell the manager to accept the check as 
mine, and I will attend to it ; and say that I should 
esteem it a favor if he would consider the matter 
strictly private.’’ 

When Tom had gone, Mr. Staincliffe sat in a 
reverie, with a pale face, and hands pressed to his 
forehead, for a full half-hour. Then he examined 
the check again, and carefully scrutinized the sig- 
nature. After that he observed the date, and, un- 
locking the safe, he took out his check book, and 
examined it for that date. It seemed all right. But 
in turning over the duplicates backwardly, he no- 
ticed, after the first check drawn for that day, that 
the book had been tampered with; and on a closer 
inspection, found thut u duplicate had been carefully 


Missing 


13 * 


extracted. He pondered over this, and, after 
awhile, rang the bell. When the office boy entered 
he sent for the cashier. 

“Who was left in the office on Tuesday evening? ” 
asked Mr. StainclifFe. 

“Twoose, and the office boy,” replied the cashier, 
after a minute or two’s reflection. “ Twoose had a 
few letters to address, and the boy waited to take 
them to the post.” 

“Send Twoose here, will you? ” 

Twoose entered. 

“ Were you last in the office on Tuesday night? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Was there anyone here beside you and the office 
boy?” 

“ Mr. Herbert, sir.” 

“ Did he enter my room? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Was he there long? ” 

“Not very long, sir. I heard a noise like the 
opening and shutting of a lock, sir, and soon after 
that Mr. Herbert came out and went away.” 

“That will do. You may return to your work.” 
And being left alone, Mr. StainclifFe sank into an- 
other reverie, with the conviction, not merely the 
surmise, that this wrong had been done by his son. 

Soon after twelve o’clock, while Tom was at 
home, Lizzie called at Robert Cresswell’s and 
asked to see Tom. Mrs. Cresswell saw at once 
that there was something seriously the matter, of 
which Lizzie’s visit, even w'ithout her sad face, 
would have been sufficient proof. She considerately 


133 The Fall of the Stainclifes. 

busied herself in the kitchen and left the two to- 
gether. 

“ Mother has sent me to see you, Tom,” began 
Lizzie. “We want you to help us. Herbert has 
been missing since yesterday morning. He went to 
Dunsford with Dempster, and although Dempster 
has returned, he has not. Will you go over to Aunt 
Ellen’s, and ask if Herbert is there ; and if he is, 
bring him home ? ” 

“ I will do all I can, Lizzie. But what if he isn’t 
there?” 

“ Do your best to find out where he is. We are 
very anxious about him. Could you go to Dunsford 
this afternoon, Tom? ” 

“ I think so ; and if I do not bring him back with 
me to-night, I will send you a letter by a messen- 
ger in the morning.” 

Thank you, Tom.” 

The conversation now ran into general channels. 
Tom said nothing to Lizzie about the check. He 
could see she was very much distressed already, and 
he did not wish to add to her care. She began to 
talk about Sunnybank School, asking a multitude 
of questions, and then told Tom about the work she 
was doing at Brindley. Glancing at the clock, she 
suddenly wished Tom and his mother Good-bye,” 
and hastened away. 

Tom had no difficulty in obtaining leave of ab- 
sence for the afternoon, and was soon ringing 
Mrs. Fairfax’s bell in Dunsford. He asked for Miss 
Fairfax, and was shown into the library. When 
Kate made her appearance, she was surprised to see 


Missing, 


133 


him, but treated him with kindly effusion. She 
asked why he was in Dunsford. She supposed 
he must be over on business, and was very pleased 
that he had favored her with a call. 

‘‘My business is with you and Mrs. Fairfax.” 

“Indeed. Then I am sorry mother is not in,” 
said Kate ; “and I am afraid she won’t be until late 
this evening.” 

“ Perhaps you can give me the information I de- 
sire. ” 

“ And what is it, pray?” 

“Was Herbert Staincliffe here yesterday? ” 

“He was,” replied Kate, blushing. “And he 
must have left very early this morning. He was 
gone before we came down. I suppose he will be 
at home now.” 

“No! that is the reason I am here,” said Tom. 
“ I want to find out where he is. You will par- 
don me if my questions appear inquisitive.” 

“ Certainly. But I am afraid I cannot give you 
any clue as to his whereabouts, if he is not at 
home,” said Kate, beginning to feel interested in 
Tom’s mission. 

“ What time did he come here yesterday?” asked 
Tom. 

“ Very late. Between eleven and twelve o’clock.” 

“ What condition was he in? ” 

Kate hesitated, and looked painfully at Tom. 
Then she said, “ I would not tell many people, but 
I dare tell you. I know you have a sincere regard 
for him, and will keep it a secret. He was intoxi- 
cated. I fancy, wdicn he awoke this morniug, he 


134 Fall of the Staincliffes, 

felt ashamed of himself, and so went away without 
seeing us.” 

“Have you any idea how he spent the day? 
What company he was in ? ” 

Again Kate hesitated, and, with rising color, said, 
“Your questions are very pressing. And not very 
polite questions to ask of a young lady about an in- 
toxicated man. I might decline to answer them, 
but ” 

“ Pardon me, Miss Fairfax. But this is so serious 
a matter, that I thought little about ceremony.” 

“Just what I was going to say. We need have 
no ceremony. I will answer your question. He 
spent the day on the racecourse, and in not the best 
of company. He came with my merciless cousin, 
Dempster, and was introduced by him to others 
whom he had better not have known.” 

“ Your merciless cousin?” 

“ Yes ! you remember how he killed the hedgehog.” 

“Ah! you have a memory. Miss Fairfax, I see, 
and penetration too.” 

“ Thank you. I like to understand people.” 

“ Perhaps you can tell me something about some- 
one else,” said Tom, having inferred that Kate was 
on the racecourse, and knew the company Herbert 
had mixed with. Indeed, it was the reluctance 
to reveal this, which made Kate hesitate the second 
time to answer Tom’s questions, and to answer them 
with slight warmth and a touch of resentment ; for 
she knew that Tom would not approve of her pres- 
ence at the races. “Do you know a Mr. Robert 
Winton?” 


Missing, 135 

Kate nodded, opened her eyes wide, and 
wondered where Tom had g’ot that name. 

“ Was Herbert introduced to him? 

“ Yes!” 

“ By whom? ” 

“ Dempster.” 

“And what kind of a man is Winton? ” 

“ That is not an easy question to answer,” said 
Kate, feeling a little uncomfortable. 

“ Is he a betting man? ” 

‘‘ Yes. I believe so.” 

“Did he bet with Herbert?” 

“I don’t know, but I should not be surprised if 
he did.” 

“ Would he be likely to drink with Herbert?” 

“Yes! ” 

“And you have no notion whatever where Her- 
bert is now ? ” 

“None at all.” 

“ You must excuse this particular questioning, 
Miss Fairfax, but I have a reason for it 1 will not 
detain you longer. Good-evening ! ” 

“Oh! you’ll stay to tea, Mr. Cresswell. Do 
stay ! ” and Kate prevailed upon him, and contrived to 
convey, during tea, the information that she was 
not in the habit of going to the races, and that Win- 
ton was not a well-known acquaintance of hers. 
She had been persuaded by two lady friends to 
make one of a party to drive to the course on that 
day. Winton was invited, too, and they had met 
then for the first time, although she had seen and 
heard of him before. She wished to smooth away 


136 


The Fall of the Staincliffes. 


from Tom’s mind any unfavorable impression caused 
by the revelation that she w^as on the course, and 
knew certain people whom Tom could have no lik- 
ing for ; and when Tom went away, she said how 
pleased she had been to see him, and hoped he 
would write and say whether Herbert had found his 
way home. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


FOUND. 


HEN Tom jumped out of the train at Easing- 



* V holme, he saw a young porter whom he 
knew very well, having had him in his class at 
Sunnybank ; and the thought struck him that pos- 
sibly he would know whether Herbert had arrived 
from Duns ford. 

‘‘John! ” said he, arresting the man’s attentionr 
“ Has Mr. Herbert Staincliffe come in by any train 
to-day?” 

“Let me see, Mr. Cresswell/’ replied the porter ; 
then, after a moment’s reflection, “ Yes, he came in 
by the seven twenty-five this evening. And,’' low- 
ering his voice, '‘between you and me, sir, he 
hardly looked himself, — rather wild about the eyes, 
and as if he were in trouble.” 

“ Did he leave the station at once?” 

“ Hurried away, sir, and kept his head down, as 
if he wanted no one to see him. I caught sight of 
him, and, knowing him well, and noticing that he 
wasn’t himself I watched him off ; and, thought I, 
there’s Mr. Herbert Staincliffe, with his heart in his 
shoes, and a heavy heart too by the way he’s 
walking.” 

“You didn’t notice which way he went after 
leaving the station, did you, John?” 

“ No, Mr. Cresswell; I only saw him off the 


( 137 ) 


138 


The Tall of the Siaincliffes. 

premises, and couldn’t leave myself on account of 
the express being just then due, and I likely to be 
wanted. Duty first, you know, sir; that’s what you 
taught me at the Sunday-school, and grateful I am 
to you for it.” 

“Duty first. That’s right, John. Good-night!” 
and Tom started home, leaving the talkative porter, 
having obtained the information he required. He 
thought Herbert must have made his way heme, 
and that the anxiety of the family at Deerhill, by 
this time, would have been relieved. 

He found a messenger for his note next morning 
in the person of Harry Clough. Since college days, 
Harry had grown, and become manly in appearance, 
but he was still small in stature; and, as in his 
younger days, the muscles of his face were always on 
the verge of a smile, and the slightest nudge was 
sufficient to tumble them into it. Harry was of a 
very happy disposition, with a groundwork of 
sound common-sense, and an aptitude for persistent 
application to business; and he seemed likely to 
become one of the leading tradesmen in Easing- 
holme. On this particular Friday morning, he 
had been favored with a holiday and Tom asked 
him to take his letter to Lizzie, and bring back a 
reply. 

Harry was glad to go to Deerhill for reasons of his 
own. He had met Isabel Staincliffe once at a 
Brindley Church gathering, and was desirous of 
meeting her again. A favorite aunt of his, whom 
he often visited on Sundays, attended Brindley 
Church, and, being a staunch Churchman himself, 


Found, 


*39 


he generally accompanied her, and shared with her 
any invitations of a social kind connected with the 
Church life. He had seen Isabel at the service many 
times, and admired her, and the admiration deep- 
ened upon an introduction and the opportunity 
of a chat His message to Deerhill might afford him 
the enjoyment of a few minutes’ conversation with 
Isabel. He thought he would see her, at any rate, 
and perhaps he might be able to renew and ripen 
this acquaintance. 

He had no idea of the contents of Tom’s letter, 
or else his mind would have been occupied with 
other thoughts. He asked for Miss Stainclide, 
and was shown into the library, where he handed 
her the letter, and watched her face as she read it; 
and the sorrowful changing countenance so im- 
pressed him that he forgot Isabel, and wondered what 
was the matter. Tom’s letter was as follows: — 

“ Dear Lizzie, — I found that Herbert had spent the 
night at the house of Mrs. Fairfax, and Kate was able 
to give me information about him which I can tell you 
when next we meet. Upon reachmg Easingholme 
station I asked John Todd if he had seen Herbert, 
and was told that he had come in by the 7.35 train. 
His arrival at Deerhill in the evening would 
set all your fears at rest. With my warmest love, 
“ Yours affectionately, 

“ Tom Cresswell.” 

After reading it, Lizzie asked to be excused for a 
few minutes, and went out to consult her mother. 
The result was a reply informing Tom that Herbert 
did not reach home the previous evening, and beg- 


140 The Fall of the Staincliffes. 

ging him to find him out, and prevail upon him to 
return. 

Tom was astonished at the answer, and resolved 
to take Harry Clough into his confidence. He told 
Harry all that he knew about the affair, keeping 
back nothing, and also his surmises concerning 
Herbert’s besetting temptation, and condition at 
the present time; and he solicited Harry’s assist- 
ance in finding him that day, if he could be found. 
It was not possible for Tom to obtain another half- 
day’s release from his duties. What he did would 
have to be done in the evening. But Harry was at 
liberty, and could make use of his time in tracing 
the whereabouts of the wanderer. 

Tom’s confidence was not misplaced. He had en- 
listed the sympathies of a sharp-witted friend. 
Harry was one of the men with eyes and ears open 
to everything taking place in Easingholme. He 
knew of Herbert Staincliffe’s habits. He had 
watched him, heard what was said about him, and 
sorrowfully marked the deterioration in his character. 
He could have told Tom a few things that would 
have surprised him. After listening carefully to all 
Tom had to say, and weighing the circumstances in 
his own mind, he said, — 

“I could guess where he is at twice, and guess 
Jericho the first time.” 

‘‘Could you, Harry?” responded Tom, a little 
taken aback at his confident statement. 

“ Yes ! He’s at the “ Green Dragon.” 

“ Nay,” said Tom, “not so bad as that,” for Tom 
had heard of its evil reputation. 


Pound, 


141 


“We shall see,” Harry said, with a significant 
nod. ‘H’ll outrival St. George this afternoon. I’ll 
go inside the Dragon. I’ll inspect his interior be- 
longings, and, if he’s swallowed this young fellow, 
well ! he’ll have to disgorge, that’s all. We cannot 
afford to feed Dragons with stuff like Herbert Stain- 
cliffe is made of. I’ll be at your house, Tom, at half- 
past five this afternoon to report upon my adventure.” 

Harry was there true to the time. 

“ Well!” said Tom, expectantly. 

“Both well and ill,” said Harry. “I’ve been in- 
side. The Dragon has him safe enough. The inside 
of a Dragon is not one of the brightest places ; there 
are some queer, dim nooks in his internal arrange- 
ments ; but I’ve seen him. We may have some 
difficulty to get him out. We shall get him out, 
however, somehow, for he’s bound to turn up at 
Deerhill to-night.” 

“ It’s a good thing to have a cheerful, confident 
helper like you, Harry. I think we shall manage 
it together.” 

“ Manage it, of course. He’ll not rejoice their 
hearts much, I’m afraid, but whatever effect he may 
have upon them, we must get him home, and end 
their fearful suspense.” 

A knock came to the door. Lizzie and Belle pre- 
sented themselves, with Scamp behind them, wag- 
ging his tail complacently, and looking up with his 
mild, brown eyes in the most good-natured way 
imaginable. Lizzie explained that Mrs. Staincliffe 
would have them come and see if Tom had heard 
anything more. 


1^2 The Fall of the Staincliffes. 

“Yes!” said Tom,“ thanks to Harry here, we 
know where he is, and we’ll bring him home to- 
night” 

Lizzie and Belle had both spoken briefly to Harry 
upon entering, and now expressed their gratitude. 
Harry received it bashfully, and said he was willing 
to do all in his power to assist them. It was thanks 
enough to him to see Belle, although he did not say 
so. Belle’s face wore a troubled expression, and he 
would have gone to the world’s end, if that had been 
possible, to remove it When they were leaving, he 
said, — 

“ What do you call the dog? ” 

“ Not a handsome name, although we think him a 
handsome dog,” said Belle, smiling. “ We call him 
Scamp.” 

“Handsome is that handsome does,” replied Harry. 
“Here, Scamp.” The dog responded to his name, 
and Harry patted him on his big head, and said, 
“Old fellow ! We should be good friends, I know.” 
Then turning to Lizzie and Belle, “ Do you mind 
leaving him? Tom and I might find him useful this 
evening.” 

“ With pleasure, if he’ll stay,” said Lizzie. 

“ Oh, he’ll stay ; won’t you. Scamp?” The dog 
held up his paw to shake hands with his new friend, 
and the two sisters went away without him. 

At eight o’clock, Tom, Harry and Scamp were at 
the “Green Dragon,” asking to see the landlord. 
Impressed by Scamp’s appearance, but taking 
little notice of Tom and Harry, the waiter said he 
would find him. He did not seem easy to find. It 


Found. 


H3 


was a long time before he came, and when he did 
come — a big, fat, clean-shaven, coarse-featured man, 
with the looks and tones of a bully — he haughtily 
glanced at the three, and roughly asked what they 
wanted. 

“We want Herbert Staincliffe,” said Harry. 

“ Then you won’t get him,” said the landlord. 

“ We shall, if he is here,” returned Harry, and he 
made as much of his size as he could, and spoke 
very determinedly. 

The landlord looked down at him, as much as 
to say, “Who are you ?” But Harry stood erect, 
and seemed to mean what he said. He then looked 
at Tom, who maintained a quiet, but resolute de- 
meanor. Then he examined the dog, whose eyes 
were antipathetically fixed on him, his lips slightly 
quivering, and revealing a suggestive glimmer of 
white teeth. After mentally measuring the three, 
he said, — 

Who told you that young Staincliffe was here ? ” 

“ Never mind who told us,” responded Harry. 
“ The sooner he can accompany us the better both 
for you and for him.” 

“Oh, that’s it, is it? my little game bantam,” 
said the landlord. ‘‘ I can only say what I have 
said. You won’t get him, because he isn’t here.” 

“ He was here two hours ago.” 

“Was. Aye. But was isn’t is. He left here 
quite an hour since.” 

“ That’s so, mayster,” said the waiter, who had 
been standing by, and who, upon second sight rec- 
ognized Tom as somehow connected with the 


144 


The Fall of the Staincliffes. 


Easingholme Bank. “ Do you know where he 
went ? ” asked Tom. 

“ He said he was going home,” answered the 
waiter. “But I watched him away, and he didn’t 
turn up the road for home. He went across the 
brick-field, and then in the direction of Dene 
Wood.” 

They left the “ Green Dragon ” at once upon re- 
ceiving this information, which, because of its 
straight-forwardness, they did not doubt ; and it 
afterwards proved to be true. 

“Where do you think he is ? ” said Tom. 

“I don’t know,” said Harry, “ unless he has gone 
up to Castle Dene. If he has been drinking hard, 
and particularly not being used to it, he may be 
unhinged a little ; and, if he is not suffering from 
the extreme effects of intoxication, a sense of his 
shame may have driven him there instead of home. 
We had better try it.” 

They started off. Scamp still bearing them com- 
pany. It had been a very sultry day. Heavy 
clouds had hung motionless and threatening over 
the district all through the afternoon. When clear 
of the town Tom and Harry became aware of the 
possible bursting of a thunder-storm As they ap- 
proached Dene Wood the peculiar stillness of the 
atmosphere impressed them. Nature was in 
hushed suspense. Not a bird twittered. Not a 
leaf stirred. Every blade of grass stood still 
beside its fellow. The only sounds, and they 
seemed unnaturally increased by the surrounding 
stillness, were the rippling of the brook, — a brook, 


Pound, 


H5 


that never ran dry, tumbling down from the moor- 
lands, in the hottest summer, — and the humming of 
the insects that gathered in myriads under the trees. 
As the two friends entered the wood the first large 
heavy drops of the thunder-shower began to fall, 
and, as they came faster, splashed through the 
thick, dry foliage, with .a startling sound. Pres- 
ently a vivid lightning flash leaped across the 
wooded valley, and the loud clap and peal of 
the thunder woke all the echoes in the Dene. 
Scamp put his tail between his legs, and came 
closer to his human companions. They turned up 
their coat collars, and pushed forward more rapidly 
through the gathering gloom. They did not speak 
to each other. They were intent upon reaching 
Castle Dene as soon as possible. The lightning 
again leaped out, and again, followed quickly each 
time by the reverberating peals ; and the rain 
poured down, making the woodland path wet and 
slippery. But the two friends stumbled and 
splashed along. They came right under the ruin, 
and began to climb the hill. Suddenly Scamp 
darted before them, and, with a low whine, made 
for a gap in one of the old crumbling walls, closely 
followed by Tom and Harry. 

“ I believe we are right,” said Harry, breathing 
hard. 

“I believe we are,” Tom whispered. 

They passed through the gap ; another flash of 
lightning ran across the sky, and, with remarkable 
distinctness, lit up their surroundings ; and, while 
the thunder crashed over their heads, they made 


146 The Fall of the Stahicliffes. 

their way to an object cowered in an angle of the 
ruin, beside which Scamp had already laid himself 
down. They soon found that this object was Her- 
bert, partially intoxicated, and terrified by the storm 
which had broken upon him. His dazed wits had 
connected the storm with his own wrong doing, and 
his terror was increased by the sudden appearance 
of Scamp, followed by Tom and Harry. He soon 
understood who they were. His fears were ap- 
peased. He was assured that forgiveness, and a 
warm welcome, awaited him at Deerhill, and was 
persuaded to go with them ; and he arrived at home, 
drenched with rain, miserable with drinking, 
ashamed at his conduct — a poor, abject, forlorn- 
looking creature, and yet bringing a chastened glow 
of gladness to the expectant hearts of his mother 
and sisters. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A ROBBERY. 


R.. STAINCLIFFE was not less glad in his 



^ I heart that his son had come home again than 
his wife and daughters. Since the discovery of the 
forged check, although it was not for a very large 
amount, he had been extremely anxious about Her- 
bert, and had resolved, if he should come home, that 
he would not reproach or punish him for what he 
had done. He would give him to understand that 
he knew of the wrong, but also that he freely for- 
gave it He thought that this treatment, with the 
experiences he had gone through, would deter him 
from the committal of a similar wrong in the future. 

But the gladness of his heart was not apparent 
in his looks or ways. He carefully hid it. Herbert 
was not allowed to see it. The gladness of his 
mother and sisters was not concealed. He saw it, 
and was affected by it, for a time ; but his father’s 
demeanor toward him, to all outward appearances, 
was as if nothing had happened, with the single ex- 
ception of one pointed reference to his misdeed, 
calmly made, the day after his return. 

Tom Cresswell benefited by his connection with 
the incident. The manner in which he had borne 
himself when he had brought the check for Mr. Stain- 
cliffe’s inspection, impressed Mr. Staincliflfe favor- 
ably ; and, after Tom had gone, and he had suffi- 


( 147 ) 


148 The Fall of the Stainclifes, 

ciently overcome the shock of the discovery to think 
of any thing else, he began to feel that he had done 
Tom an injury, and that he ought to repair it. This 
conviction w^as strengthened when he knew of Tom’s 
visit to Dunsford and Castle Dene. He owed Her- 
bert’s return very largely to Tom, and he saw that 
the revival and cultivation of friendship between 
Tom and Herbert would be to Herbert’s advantage. 
Recent events had rudely awakened him to the peril- 
ous danger to which Herbert was exposed. Therefore 
he sent for Tom the week after Herbert came home, 
and apologized for the way in which he had received 
his proposal concerning Lizzie. He did his best to 
the atnende honorable by granting Tom per- 
mission to visit Deerhill, and expressed himself 
ready to sanction an engagement between them if 
they were still of the same mind. 

Herbert suffered severely from his few days’ dis- 
sipation. He left his Aunt Ellen’s in the early 
morning ; met Winton by appointment later on, and 
settled with him the betting transactions of the 
previous day ; and remained in Dunsford drink- 
ing until the evening. Upon his arrival at Easing- 
holme, he had made his way directly to the “ Green 
Dragon,” and there resumed his drinking. Far into 
the night he sat and caroused, drowning his sense of 
shame in fiery spirits, and laughing with the loudest 
of a rowdy company. Next morning he was miser- 
able. His conscience stung him. His head was 
full of pain. He was sick, and loathed the sight of 
wholesome food. He sought forgetfulness again in 
the intoxicating cup. Harry Clough had seen him 


A Robbery, 


149 


drinking during the afternoon in one of the gloomy, 
angular rooms of the old inn, sitting over a glass of 
whiskey with a most dejected and woebegone air. 
But toward evening he brightened up, and the 
thought possessed him to go home. When he got 
outside, the fear of his misdeeds displaced the thought 
of home and drove him in the opposite direction ; 
and he stumbled through the wood to Castle Dene 
with a confused notion in his befogged mind that he 
was going to hide himself and his shame. 

Before Tom and Harry reached him he had become 
drenched with the downpour of heavy rain. While 
his physical constitution w^as strong and recupera- 
tive, it was not inured to the absorption of intoxi- 
cants. The few days’ drinking had made him un- 
usually liable to suffer from exposure. The day af- 
ter his arrival home he began to shiver with cold as 
if he were threatened with an ague, supervened be- 
fore evening by a burning heat, and a thirst well- 
nigh intolerable. The next day he was in a high 
fever, which eventually reduced him to unconscious- 
ness, and, as it ran its course brought him near to 
the gates of death. His mind wandered among imag- 
inative spectres. His muttered words were disclosures 
of his recent evil life. Slowly he came back to him- 
self, and discovered how narrowly he had escaped 
the fatal termination. His mother nursed him with 
affectionate devotion. His sisters did their utmost 
to brighten his returning life. His father secretly 
rejoiced at his recovery. He was glad to observe 
the signs of increasing strength. But he did not 
pi^nifest any special solicitude beyond the occasion- 


150 The Tall of the StaincUffes, 

al expression of a hope that Herbert would soon be 
at his accustomed place in the office. 

When Herbert did recover, and began again to 
attend to business, he studiously avoided Dempster, 
and shunned the “Green Dragon” and its company. 
It really seemed, for several months, as if the lesson 
had been severe enough to practically affect his life. 
He resolved ki his own mind that he would keep 
both from gambling and drinking, devote himself 
thoroughly to business, and redeem the evil day 
which had lately overtaken him. If the resolve 
had not been made in his own strength he might 
have kept it. But Herbert had not learned the se- 
cret, so well known by Tom Cresswell, that all pre- 
vailing strength is from God. Dempster marked 
the difference in Herbert’s treatment of him, and de- 
termined to win him again to an evil career. Al- 
though Herbert never spoke to him, except he was 
really obliged, and then only in the way of business, 
yet, being in the same office, Dempster had the op- 
portunity of pushing himself upon Herbert’s notice, 
and, by blandishments which he well knew the art 
of, gradually breaking down the opposition of Her- 
bert’s mind. In six months’ time, so patiently per- 
sistent and successful had Dempster been, Herbert 
was once more in his hands. 

Dpmpster himself had not continued in his evil 
course without becoming harder in heart, and more 
unscrupulous in his thoughts and ways. The com- 
panionships he formed were of an increasingly 
1 >wer order. Quance introduced him to a round- 
featured, bullet-headed, closely-cropped young fel* 


A Robbery. 


151 

low, whose latest alias was Gran ton, prolessediy 
hailing from London, but really an itinerant nonde- 
script, wanted in more than one place by the officers 
of the law. Granton and Quance worked upon the 
cupidity of Dempster, and fired his heart with 
hopes of gain, intending themselves, however, sim- 
ply to use him as a cat’s-paw for coming at their 
own ends, before clearing out of the neighborhood ; 
and the three, between them, laid a plot for the rob- 
bery of Deerhilljin which Herbert, through Demp- 
ster’s intrigue, was to play an important part. The 
plot was ripe for execution, and Dempster, waiting 
his chance, quietly said to Herbert, — 

“We haven’t seen you at the ‘ Dragon’ lately?” 

“ No ! ” Herbert replied. “The ‘ Dragon’ is noth- 
ing in my way.” 

“We shall have good company there to-night. 
We are to have a game or two, and then a few 
songs from a fellow called Granton — a fine young 
chap from London.” 

Herbert made no reply. 

“We should be glad to see you,” continued Demp- 
ster. “All the fellows would give you a right 
hearty welcome back again, and they are a picked 
lot to-night. It is an invitation night to the little 
corner room. Will you come? ” 

Herbert hesitated. The temptation was strong, 
but he thought of home, and Kate Fairfax, and 
Tom Cresswell, and his own altered life, and his 
feeling was to say “ No ! ” Then he thought of the 
picked company, and the chance of winning a trifle, 
and the excitement of an evening like he had 


1^2 The Fall of the Staincliffes. 

enjoj ed before- time, and the harmlessness of goingf 
once more, just once, and his feeling was to say 
“Yes!” Dempster observed the hesitation and 
said, — 

“We shall have a jolly time. I’ll go shares with 
you in the cards, — you know my luck, — and then 
we can settle down to a quiet glass, and listen to 
Granton’s piping. He has a capital voice. Will 
you come? ” 

“ I’ll see,” said Herbert. “If I come, I’ll be 
there at seven.” 

Dempster was sure of his presence. He came. 
The cards were produced, and he won again and 
again, and with his winnings became excited. 
Dempster led him on, plied him with liquor, got 
him into a reckless mood, cleverly manipulated 
the cards by the help of Quance and Granton, who 
played to lose, that they might play a deeper game 
to win until Herbert was flushed with extraordinary 
success, — a run of luck such as he had not ex- 
perienced before. The cards were put away, Her- 
bert reluctantly consenting; and, under the in- 
creased excitement of uproarious song, Herbert 
drank still deeper, and by eleven o’clock was intoxi- 
cated almost to helplessness. Dempster had taken 
very little, Granton and Quance less still, and, 
when eleven o’clock came, proposed to Herbert 
that they should go with him part of the way home. 
Herbert unsuspectingly consented, glad to have 
company through the dark lanes to Deerhill. 

When they entered the gates, and walked up the 
drive, it was nearly twelve o’clock. As they ap- 


A Robbery. 153 

proached the house, Scamp, who was lying just 
within the kitchen door, roused himself, and began 
barking. 

“ I didn’t know they had a brute of a dog 
whispered Granton, surlily. “Why didn’t you say, 
so, Dempster ? ” 

“ I forgot to mention that,” Dempster replied. 

“ If he comes out when the door is opened he 
must not go in again,” said Granton, “or else 
we’re done for. We might as well give it up.” 

“ They may open the door when we get a little 
nearer,” said Quance, “ and if we stick to Herbert 
till the dog comes up, we can manage him. I 
thought about the dog if you didn’t ; and I’ll war- 
rant he never barks again, if he comes within the 
smell of my hand.” 

This conversation was conducted in an under- 
tone so that Herbert should not hear. 

Quance was right. Mrs. Staincliffe was waiting 
for Herbert, in nervous dread lest he should come 
home intoxicated ; and, when Scamp began bark- 
ing, she opened the kitchen door. Scamp bounded 
down the drive toward his master. Mrs. Stain- 
cliffe thought she heard the sound of voices and 
footsteps in the darkness. The three were wishing 
Herbert “ Good night ! ” and as he stumbled 
tov^ard the open door, they secreted themselves in 
the shrubbery. Mrs. Staincliffe listened intently, 
and a low moan came through the darkness, a 
moan of pain, as if Scamp were sorrowfully greet- 
ing his master ; and when Herbert entered she 
expected Scamp to follow. But he was not to be 


154 Pali of the StaincU^es. 

seen. She held the door a moment or two, and 
called him, and when he did not come, closed it, 
and followed Herbert into the dining room. 

‘‘ Oh, Herbert ; I’m sorry — very, very sorry. I 
hoped you had quite overcome the temptation,” 
and the tears fell from his mother’s eyes upon his 
hand. 

“Don’t fret, mother ; I’ll — I’ll — I’ll t— ry to be 
better. I — I’m a poor, weak mortal. I — I didn’t 
mean to grieve you again, mother,” he said, with a 
thick hiccoughing utterance and a lolling of the 
head, that altogether neutralized the worth and 
meaning of his words. 

“ Did anyone come home with you ? ” 

“Eh ?” he asked, pretending not to hear, but 
really unwilling to confess that he had had com- 
pany home. 

“ Did anyone come home with you ? I thought 
I heard someone in the drive before you came to 
the door.” 

“ D — id you ? Well — I’m not so bad but what 
I can manage to walk home alone. I — I think I’ll 
go to bed, mother,” and he reeled away to the foot 
of the stairs. 

She helped him to his room ; then she returned 
to the kitchen door, opened it, and looked out again 
for Scamp. The night was so dark that she could 
not see beyond the grassy margin of the yard. She 
thought he might be in the yard, or near it, and 
she called him twice, but there was no answer. 
Closing the door again, she sought solace for her 
sorrow in the forgetfulness of sleep. 


A Robbery. 1 55 

Early next morning, the family at Deerhili were 
roused by the gardener. He had discovered Scamp 
dead upon the lawn. He had noticed footprints in 
the soft earth of the shrubbery. The grass near the 
folding windows of the drawing-room was very 
much trampled. He suspected that the house had 
been entered in the night, and his suspicions were 
verified by the family when they came downstairs. 
The ground -floor rooms had been ransacked, and 
the drawers broken open and emptied. The silver 
spoons and cutlery, Isabel’s gold watch, which had 
been left upon the drawing-room mantelpiece; a 
cash-box, with twenty-three pounds in it, which 
had been locked in one of the dining-room 
drawers ; a set of silk embroidered antimacassars, 
presented to Mrs. Staincliffe by her sister Ellen ; 
Lizzie’s sealskin jacket ; the servant’s silver brooch 
and earrings from the sideboard in the kitchen ; 
all kinds of small portable goods, of any value 
whatsoever, had been gathered together and taken 
away. But the loss of these, for the time, was 
overshadowed by the loss of Scamp, for the poor 
dog lay stiff and swollen, having been poisoned be- 
fore the robbery began. The hearts of all were 
filled with pity at the sight of him, and Lizzie and 
Isabel could hardly refrain from tears. 

Juno was saddled at once, and the groom galloped 
into Easingholme to inform the police of the inci- 
dent. An hour later a sergeant was at Deerhili, 
and by his questioning, quickly ascertained who 
was the last home the night before. Mrs. Stain- 
cliffe told him what she had observed when letting 


156 The Tall of the Staincliffes, 

Herbert in, and Herbert and the sergeant were 
closeted for some time in private interview. Her- 
bert came from the library with a pale and down- 
cast look, and the sergeant, regarding the whole 
matter from a purely business standpoint, wished the 
troubled family a cheerful “ Good-morning.” 

“You have had no hand in this, I hope, Her- 
bert ? ” said Mr. Staincliffe, with severely- knitted 
brows, and an expression of pain upon his counte- 
nance. 

“No! father. I knew nothing of it until this 
morning,” and Herbert blushed at the thought of 
his father suspecting him. He looked his father 
full in the face, however, and his eyes were so 
steady that his father’s suspicions were at once 
removed. 

‘‘ Have you any idea who has done it, Herbert ? ” 
he asked. 

“ If may have been done by some young fellows 
who walked home with me last night,” responded 
Herbert, the blush deepening at the confession that 
he had come home in questionable company ; while 
the father’s brows again knitted, and the look of 
pain crept back into his face. “The sergeant will 
find out if it is so. We shall see,” and Herbert 
turned away, leaving his father in silence. 





* 


k 


t 






«i « 


* 


f*- \ 


« 


« 




4 









THE AniiEST— See page 157 





CHAPTER XV. 


DETECTED. 


T half-past ten, while the clerks were quietly 



^ ^ working in Mr. Staincliffe’s office, and Mr. 
StainclifTe himself was busily engaged with his 
morning correspondence, a stout man, brown-whis- 
kered and sharp-eyed, dressed in a plain suit of 
grey tweed, walked in without announcement, and 
glanced keenly round the room. Approaching 
Dempster, he tapped him quietly on the shoulder, 
and said, — 

“Young man ! you’re wanted.” 

‘‘By whom?” asked Dempster, with a start. 

“By me,” responded the detective, “an officer of 
the law. I must ask you to go with me to the 
police-station.” 

“What for?” asked Dempster, turning very 
pale, and with a visible tremor. 

“For being concerned in a robbery last night at 
Deerhill.” 

The clerks turned round in astonishment when 
the detective entered and arrested Dempster. Their 
astonishment increased at the conversation, which, 
although quiet, could be heard distinctly all over the 
office. The room was so still, that, for a moment 
or two, the clerks could hear Dempster’s hard breath- 
ing, and the tick of the clock. The only person 
in the office not looking on and apparently not 


t6o The Fall of the Stainclifes. 

astonished, was Herbert He remained behind the 
partition, and seemed absorbed in his work, but 
he heard everything, and was painfully conscious 
of the whole scene. 

Mr. Staincliffe, becoming aware that something 
unusual was happening in the office, came out of his 
private room, and looked inquiringly from the de- 
tective to Dempster, and then at the wondering 
faces of his men. 

“ Good-morning, Mr. Staincliffe,” said the de- 
tective. 

‘‘Good-morning,” said Mr. Staincliffe. “What 
is the matter ? ” 

“ I have called for this young man here,” pointing 
to Dempster. “ I hope his absence will not incon- 
venience you. He is wanted for a case of house- 
breaking last night.” 

Mr. Staincliffe started. He looked hard at Demp- 
ster, and then glanced at Herbert’s bent head and 
busy fingers behind the partition. He took in the 
situation, and said, — 

“I’m very sorry. Are you sure you have the 
right man? ” 

“ Quite.” 

“Then there is nothing more to be said,” and 
Mr. Staincliffe was turning again towards his pri- 
vate apartment. 

“Am I the only one ?” asked Dempster, and Mr. 
Staincliffe stood still to hear the reply. 

“We’ll see about that a little later,” answered 
the detective. “You’ll come with me, please, and 
quietly I hope. I don’t want a row,” and he 


Detected, 


161 

pushed his coat aside, as if accidentally, and disclosed 
the bright rim of a pair of steel handcuffs protrud- 
ing from his hip pocket. ‘‘You may walk beside 
me to the station.” Then, turning to Mr. Staincliffe, 
“ I will be back again, sir, in the course of an hour. 
I should like a little conversation with you, and we 
may need your help in this business.” 

The two went away. Mr. Staincliffe returned to 
his room, and a murmured conversation about the 
affair was indulged in by the clerks in the office. 
Presently Herbert was called into his father’s apart- 
ment, and the father said, — 

“I am much troubled, and very anxious, Herbert, 
about this matter. It is looking very dark, and, 
to me, has taken quite an unexpected turn. Did 
you expect Dempster would be arrested this morn- 
ing?” 

“Yes!” 

“ Then he came home with you last night ? 

“ Yes! ” 

“ Is anyone else implicated in the robbery ? ’’ 

“ I fear so.” 

“ You are clear, Herbert ?” and the tones were a 
searching appeal. 

“ I am clear,” Herbert replied. “I had no sus^ 
picion of robbery when they accompanied me home 
last night, and knew nothing about it until the 
alarm was made this morning. I was as much sur- 
prised as anyone else. They must have used me as 
a blind for getting near the house, and giving Scamp 
the poison, but I was not aware of it at the time. 
My blame lies in being in their company, and giving 


i 62 


The Fall of the Staincliffes. 


them a chance they would not otherwise have had,” 
and Herbert hung his head in shame. 

“ Who are the others ? ” asked the father. 

“ Two fellows from London that Dempster intro- 
duced me to — Quance and Granton. You won’t 
know them. I don’t know them myself very well.” 

“ I am deeply thankful you are clear, but I hope 
it will be a severe and lasting lesson to you. You 
have been going wrong again for a while. Try to 
mend,” and yet, as he said these words, Mr. Stain- 
clifTe was not quite easy in his own conscience. 
Eighteen months before he might have given such 
advice without that slight feeling of reserve, that 
tinge of compunction of which he was now con- 
scious. Among his papers this morning were com- 
munications from a firm of speculative sharebrokers, 
who, on account of their method of conducting busi- 
ness, were tabooed by their fellows ; and, previous 
to the entrance of the detective, he had been con- 
sidering an offer for the employment of money 
which he did not possess in his own right. He 
held it in trust for others — children who had been 
orphaned, and provided for by will, and whose 
money he could not honestly use in risky and 
doubtful speculations. He was being gradually 
drawn into the contracting and increasingly force- 
ful circles of a whirlpool. He was not altogether 
aware of it, and yet sufficiently aware to feel that 
his advice to Herbert needed to be attended to by 
himself as well. 

The detective returned, and informed Mr. Stain- 
gliffe that be should require his companj^ to Duns- 


Detected. 


163 


ford. He had visited the “ Green Dragon,” where 
he expected to secure the other two thieves, but the 
landlord vouched that he had not seen them since 
the evening before. He would not take the voucher 
of the landlord, and carefully searched the premises. 
Still he failed to find them. And the word of the 
landlord was confirmed by inquiry at the railway 
station — two men, answering to the description 
given, had left by the two forty-five night train — 
and also by a telegram from Dunsford informing 
the authorities in Easingholme that a quantity of 
stolen goods had been found there, and that two 
men, that very morning had been arrested while de- 
positing other goods in the same place. Notwith- 
standing this, with a detective's precaution, he had 
made arrangements to have the Green Dragon” 
watched, because the discovery and arrest at Duns- 
ford might prove to be connected with another 
case. 

Mr. Stainclifie and the detective were met in 
Dunsford by a police officer. They proceeded to 
the little chapel on the bridge — a tiny place, like a 
miniature Gothic minster, with the statuary decaying 
in the niches, and the oaken door grey and cracked 
with age — a chapel built to commemorate a battle 
on the bridge during the Wars of the Roses — and 
now, alas! degenerated into a temporary storehouse 
for stolen goods. The attention of the police had 
been directed to this sanctuary by a barge woman, 
who, during the night, some weeks before, had ob- 
served a man climb the pillar immediately beneath 
it, swing himself over the wall, and disappear 


164 The Fall of the Stahicliffes, 

through the window. Upon examination the chapel 
was found to contain several missing articles from 
houses in Dunsford and neighboring towns, and 
also a set of burglar’s tools. They w^erc left undis- 
turbed. The chapel was placed under the strictest 
surveillance. And, on the morning of the robbery 
of Deerhill, in the dense darkness preceding the 
breaking of the dawn, two men were observed to 
enter the chapel, climbing to the window from a 
boat on the river, and, while depositing their spoil, 
were surprised, and after a short struggle, were cap- 
tured. These men were Quance and Granton. 

A crowd was gathered upon the bridge when 
Mr. Staincliffe arrived. It had been a large crowd, 
for when the people of Dunsford heard of the cap- 
ture, they came together in great num.bers to gratify 
their curiosity and manifest their indignation. As 
the day advanced, and the interest lessened, the 
people drifted away to their various employments. 
Very many, however, of the idler sort, whose em- 
ployments were never pressing, still remained, and 
through these the police officer pushed his way, fol- 
lowed by Mr. Staincliffe and the detective. He 
opened the old oaken door, and asked the two to 
step inside. The people came together, treading on 
each other’s heels, and peering over each other’s 
heads, to obtain a momentary view of the articles 
within. But the policeman quickly shut the door, 
and Mr. Staincliffe proceeded at once to examine 
the goods that were laid before him. The silver 
was there, marked witli the monogram of himself 
and wife ; Belle’s watch was there, and Lizzie’s 


Detected. 


165 

jacket, and the antimacassars, and the servant’s 
brooch and earrings, and many smaller things. The 
only article missing ’svas the cash-box and its con- 
tents. There w'ere many things he could not recog- 
nize mixed among those from Deerhill, and which 
the officer said were from other places in and about 
Dunsford. The two captured men had evidently 
been working the district, and would soon have 
been away beyond the reach of detection, with the 
booty they had gathered together. 

“ Do you know these men, sir? ” asked the police- 
man. 

“ Not at all.” 

“ Would you like to see them?” 

“ No, thank you. I suppose I shall be wanted at 
the trial, and it will be time enough then.” 

‘‘ The third man arrested at Easingholme, was in 
your employ, I understand.” 

“ Yes ! ” 

“ How do you account for his companionship with 
these two? They are evidently old hands at the 
business.” 

“ I can only account for it by the fact that he has 
been addicted to gambling for some time, and, I 
fear, drinking, too. He must have met them at 
what place do you call it?” turning to the de- 
tective. 

“ The ‘ Green Dragon.’ ” 

“ Yes! the ‘Green Dragon.’ I really cannot ac- 
count for it in any other way.” 

The magistrates committed the three to take their 
trial at the Assizes. When the trial came off, 


i66 


The Fall of the Staincliffes. 

Quance and Granton were undefended, and there 
were old charges against them under other names 
which aggravated their offense, and brought upon 
them a very heavy sentence of imprisonment* 
Dempster was defended by a local barrister. In- 
structed by Dempster he tried to establish one of 
two things, — either that Herbert, the chief witness 
against the three, was as much an accomplice in the 
committal of the crime as Dempster ; or that Demp- 
ster, like Herbert, was simply a tool in the hands of 
the two men, who were known to be professional 
burglars. He submitted Herbert to a tortuous, se- 
vere, and galling cross-examination. He dwelt 
particularly upon Herbert’s intimate friendship with 
Dempster. He made capital out of Herbert’s re- 
fusal to inform his mother that he had had com- 
pany home. He remarked that Herbert never 
troubled himself about the absence of the dog, but 
went to bed and left the deg outside. He implied 
that Herbert might have come down in the night, 
when the household was settled, and admitted the 
other three. He did not succeed, however, in his 
task : and feeling it to be a foregone conclusion that 
Dempster would not be acquitted, he used his ut- 
most endeavor to lighten the sentence by setting 
forth his former good character, and specially plead- 
ing that this was a first offense. The jury found 
him guilty, with a recommendation that his punish- 
ment should be lenient, and the judge committed 
him to prison for twelve months. 

Herbert’s appearance and examination in the wit- 
ness-box drew public attention to his misdeeds. 


Detected, 


167 

There were many who refused to believe that he 
had nothing to do with the crime. Their sympathies 
were with Dempster, simply because he had to suf- 
fer. The majority of people are not very discrimi- 
nating, and do not carefully follow out to their 
legitimate conclusions the details of a public trial. 
They feel for those who are punished, and visit their 
indignation upon those who seem to be implicated, 
and yet escape. The judge thought well to address 
a few words to Herbert, in a serious and severe 
tone, about his habits, and the associations into which 
his habits had drawn him ; and he reminded him that 
he had only escaped the fate of the others by the 
skin of his teeth. Herbert was disgraced in his own 
eyes, and in the eyes of the people of Easingholme, 
and he went out of the court a sadder, if not a 
wiser, man. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


REFORMATION. 


HE robbery and trial, and the various incidents 



^ connected therewith, had a most marked effect 
upon Herbert’s behavior. He felt keenly the words 
addressed to him by the judge. He saw the neces- 
sity of altering his course of life. The people of 
Easingholme did not soon forget the trial. Her- 
bert had many evidences that he had gohe down in 
the estimation of the people, and that if the name 
of Staincliffe was not permanently to suffer by his 
recent conduct, he would have to be very careful 
about his mode of life in the future. 

With the removal of Dempster from the office, 
one fruitful source of temptation was taken out of 
his way. Dempster was a cunning man, patient in 
his cunning, and of varied resources when determined 
upon the attainment of an object; he was also in- 
veterately selfish, always intent upon his own ad- 
vantage. The easy nature of Herbert, yielding to 
importunity, lacking in clear apprehension of what 
was right, and in courage to do the right when appre- 
hended, was no match for Dempster; and it was 
entirely favorable to Herbert’s reformation that 
Dempster was no longer near by to exercise his 
influence over him. 

Herbert kept away from the “Green Dragon.” 
The frequenters of that shady house held him in 


( 168 ) 


Reformation. 169 

contempt because of his damaging evidence at the 
trial. They thought that he should have covered 
his comrades if at all possible, and, particularly, 
that he should have kept back evidence against 
Dempster, and tried, by reserve or prevarication, to 
secure Dempster’s acquittal. Herbert cared very 
little 'what they thought about him, or how they 
felt towards him. Recent events had revealed, 
more clearly than he had ever seen it before, the 
deep line that divided the society of the “Green 
Dragon” from the society in which he was 
naturally expected to move; and he resolved that 
he would be truer to his training, to the influences 
of his home life, and the respectability of his family, 
than he had been hitherto. 

Weeks and months went by, and the resolve, to 
all outward appearence, was faithfully kept. He 
attended carefully to business, to the great satis- 
faction of his father, in whom hopes rose again that 
Herbert would carry forward the success of the firm, 
and make the Staincliffe name still more honorable. 
He spent most of his evenings at home. His 
mother and sisters gladly welcomed him, and home 
began to assume its old, cheerful aspect. Mrs. 
StainclifTe’s happiness would have been almost 
perfect but for a feeling of uneasiness in regard to 
her husband, who absented himself from home much 
more frequently than he was wont to do, and ex- 
hibited alternations of feeling, a moodiness quite 
unusual for him, which puzzled and troubled his 
wife a good deal. Herbert was altered, however, and 
over that change she rejoiced. He even interested 


170 The FaR of the Staincliffes. 

himself in social movements connected with Brind- 
ley Church. Without showing any definite re- 
ligious inclinations, he was ready at all festive 
gatherings to make himself agreeable and useful; 
and his mother fain hoped that this was only a 
steppingstone to higher and more important work. 

There was one dead fly in this sweetly smelling 
ointment of an altered life. It was not seen by 
everyone. Herbert knew that the dead fly was 
there, and to himself the savor of his life was 
spoiled thereby. Gambling had obtained a firm 
grip upon his nature. He indulged the habit, not 
to any considerable extent, and not in the low way 
practiced at the “ Green Dragon,” but mostly by 
bets upon sports of various kinds with persons 
nearer his own station in life. The continuation of 
the habit was partly owing to its prevalence at the 
works. He saw the workpeople settling their ac- 
counts every pay-day. So common had the prac- 
tice become that the young people at the works, 
mere children some of them, fourteen years old, 
would regularly take their few coppers to a certain 
part of the premises, and have them entered upon 
this or that horse, in the hope of obtaining large 
returns. If Robert Cresswell had been at his old 
post, such things would not have been tolerated, 
but now there was no one to check them. Fore- 
men, as well as ordinary workpeople, were ad- 
dicted to the habit, and Mr. Stainclifle himself did 
not care to interfere. The sight of this continuous 
and regular gambling whetted Herbert’s desire, 
and, while the remembrance of past events exer- 


Reformation. 


171 

cised to some extent a salutary influence upon him, 
he ventured to stake his money upon sports that 
were constantly taking place in and around Easing- 
holme. 

One bright Saturday morning, in the summer 
following the robbery, Tom Crcsswell received a 
note from Lizzie asking him to spend the afternoon 
and evening at Deerhill. Mrs. Fairfax and Kate 
were over for a few days. They intended having 
tea on the lawn, and a ramble afterwards in the 
woods behind the house. Tom had frequently 
visited Deerhill for some time. His engagement 
with Lizzie was recognized by the whole family, 
and he was welcomed cheerfully by them all, not 
excepting Mr. Stainclifle himself. He presented 
himself just as tea was being served under the shade 
of an expansive willow ; and Belle, who was seated 
beside her sister, rose with a playful expression, to 
give him his rightful place. It was a very homely 
party. They were all in a merry mood. It was a 
lovely afternoon. Everything was bathed in sun- 
shine, and the sunshine seemed also to have entered 
into their hearts. 

After tea they started for the v/oods. Kate and 
Herbert led the way ; Tom and Lizzie followed ; 
Belle tripped between them and the three elder 
ones who brought up the rear, tormenting both, 
and deriving fun out of everything. 

“ Herbert seems to have quite got over his temp- 
tation, Tom,” said Lizzie. 

“ He is certainly very much better,” Tom replied. 

“We are all so glad. Home is very different 


1^2 The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

now that he is steady and spends more of his time 
with us. We have all great hopes of him, and be- 
fore long father intends taking him into the busi- 
ness, and giving him a share in the concern.” 

“It will be a joy to me if your hopes are real- 
ized,” said Tom. “ Herbert has capital business 
talent, and, if he will only keep right, there is no 
reason why he should not become a very successful 
man.'’ 

Tom was guarded in what he said. He had his 
fears about Herbert, because he knew that he had 
not altogether broken away from his gambling 
habits , and he knew also that Mr. Staincliffe was 
not so sound commercially as he had been in past 
years. The rumors about Mr. Staincliffe’s specula- 
tions were unpleasant to listen to, and often made 
Tom anxious, but he did not disturb Lizzie by tell- 
ing her all he knew. 

“ Herbert shows a great partiality for Kate’s 
society,” said Lizzie. 

“ Yes! ” said Tom. “ Do you think them suited 
for each other ? ” 

“ They might be very comfortable together,” 
answered Lizzie, “ and if Herbert were to propose 
to her, and she accepted him, the engagement 
might be another link binding Herbert to better 
ways.” 

“How would the engagement be received by Mr. 
and Mrs. Staincliffe?” 

“It would be very gratifying to them. I heard 
them speaking about it the other day, and father 
said he desired nothing better, and would be 


Reformation, 25^3 

pleased if it were speedily effected. There is no 
doubt about Herbert’s affection for Kate, if the af- 
fection were likely to be returned.” 

“ I think that Kate would accept him, but I am 
not sure about her affection for him.” Lizzie looked 
concernedly into Tom’s face, and Tom replied to 
the look by saying, “ I may be mistaken. She may 
love him, but Kate is difficult to understand.” 

“ But, surely, she would not accept him if she 
didn’t love him ; would she, Tom?” 

Perhaps she would accept him in the hope of 
loving him, if she felt quite certain about his affec- 
tion for her.” 

Lizzie was silent for awhile, and when she spoke 
again the conversation took another turn. 

Herbert and Kate had gone rapidly forward 
leaving the others far behind. They had joked and 
laughed together, not thinking either about time or 
company, until Herbert suddenly halted, and said, — 

“ Why, Kate, we must be a long way ahead. I 
cannot hear them at all.” 

There was almost perfect stillness. No sound of 
voices or footsteps reached them. The wind was 
quiet, the leaves hardly moved. The birds were in- 
dulging in a siesta during the warmth of the late 
afternoon. The sky was cloudless, and from the 
blue expanse, the sunshine poured down and flooded 
everything with glorious light. 

“ Let us sit down, and wait for them,” said Her- 
bert. 

Kate obediently seated herself on a grassy mound, 
half surrounded by tall fern, and shaded by a group 


1^4 Pall of the Staincliffes, 

of young trees. Herbert sat beside her. For some 
time no word passed between them. Herbert 
seemed lost in thought, while Kate stripped the 
finnce from the fern and twisted the bared stalks 
around her fingers. All at once Herbert stayed her 
hand, and kept it within his own. 

“ Kate,” said he, “ I have been wanting to tell you 
how much I love you, and I do not see why I should 
not tell you now. Ever since I came to your house 
after the accident, I have loved you, and cherished 
the thought that one day you would be mine.” 

Kate made no reply, beyond that given by a 
deeper color spreading over her face, and not at- 
tempting to withdraw her hand. Encouraged by 
these signs Herbert continued, — 

“ May I claim you, Kate? Can you return my 
affection ? ” 

“ I could not love a man,” responded Kate, and 
speaking under controlled emotion, “who forgets 
himself so much as to dishonor his family name, and 
who cares so little for himself as to injure his pros- 
pects in life by expensive and evil ways.” 

Kate I ” and Herbert spoke loudly, and almost 
fiercely. Then, subsiding, and penitent, he said, 
“ I know I am not worthy of you. I have made a 
fool of myself. The name of Staincliffe has been 
dishonored by me. Your charge is just. But are 
two years of a man’s life to condemn him forever? 
Kate ! I’m a better man now, and will be a better 
man, and, if you will be mine, you shall never have 
cause to reproach me or to reproach yourself for ac- 
cepting me. Look at me now. I do not look like 


Reformation. 175 

I did last year at Dunsford races, and you shall 
never see me look like that again.” 

Kate turned her face toward him. There was 
sympathy in her looks — a tenderness that Herbert 
had not seen before ; and he bent toward her, and 
kissed her. 

“ You will not refuse me, Kate? Give me a kiss, 
and let that be your answer,” and Kate drew him 
toward her, and kissed him twice, and made him 
happier than ever he had been before. 

When the others came up, they had risen from the 
mound and were waiting to receive them. During 
the evening it was noticed that they were both 
quieter than usual, but there was a joy in their 
countenances not difficult to interpret. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE RIVIERA. 

“/^OOD morning!” said the Rev. Nicholas Tre- 
mayne, as he entered Robert Cress well’s house 
for the purpose of consulting him about an impor- 
tant circuit matter. How are you this morn- 
ing?” 

“Very well, sir. How are you? ” 

“ Capital,” he replied. “A fine morning like this 
puts new life into a man. It is a foretaste of spring,” 
and, as he stood at the door in the sunshine, he raised 
himself to his full height and took a deep breath 
as if he enjoyed it. 

It was the twenty-fifth day of March, the com- 
mencement of the spring quarter. The winter had 
been a severe one, — very few bright, frosty days, 
but plenty 5f rain and snow, and a darkened atmos- 
phere. A clear, fine sunny morning was very 
welcome. 

After finishing his curcuit business, Mr. Tre- 
mayne said, — “I suppose there is a wedding to-day 
at Deerhill.” 

“Yes!” replied Mrs. Cresswell. “I am very 
glad the day is fine.” 

“ Do you know the bride ? ” 

“ No ! that is, not personally. She is a step- 
daughter to Mrs. Fairfax, of Dunsford, Mrs. Stain- 
clifTe’s sister. She is a beautiful girl, and not with- 

( 176 ) 


The Riviera. 


177 


out money. I understand that Mr. and Mrs. Stain- 
cliffe are both very w’ell pleased with the match.” 

“ I hope the marriage will prove a happy one, 
and that it will keep young Staincliffe steadier, and 
help him to settle down to a useful life. He has 
been much better lately, has he not Mr. Cress- 
well ? ” 

“ He has, much better, but I fear he has not 
shaken himself free from a perilous habit which 
may ruin him if he is not careful.” 

“ Indeed. What is that? ” 

“ Gambling.” 

“ Oh! yes. And by-the-by, have you heard any 
rumors lately about Mr. Staincliffe? A gentleman 
was telling me the other day that he did not stand 
so well commercially as he had done, — that the 
reputation of the firm was suffering through a 
suspicion that Mr. Staincliffe speculated a good 
deal and had lately lost money. Is it true, think 
you?” 

“I am afraid so. You know, Mr. Tremayne, I am 
interested in the firm because of my long service 
under Mr. Staincliffe and his father. I have had 
to do with the building up of the business, and one 
of the greatest troubles of my life was to leave it; 
and whatever affects it now I am as much concerned 
about as if I were still in the employ of Mr. Stain- 
cliffe. Tom told me that Mr. Staincliffe had taken 
Herbert into partnership with him in prospect of 
his marriage, and had given him a substantial share 
in the business; and, if it had not been for Herbert’s 
besetting temptation, I should have hoped that this 


178 The Fall of the Siainclifes, 

arrangement would have been the salvation of the 
business. I hope so still, notwithstanding the 
temptation, but should be much more sanguine 
if Herbert would free himself from it.” 

“It is a great pity that Mr. Staincliffe parted 
with you, Mr. Cresswell. I wish he would take 
you back again.” 

“ I knew his father, sir, and loved him ; and I 
loved Mr. Staincliffe for his father’s sake. There 
is nothing I would not now do for him. It grieved 
me when he parted with me so easily, and it has 
grieved me still more to see the course he has taken 
since I left. I desire nothing better than to serve 
him, if he would allow me to serve him, not with 
eye service as a man pleaser, but as a servant of 
Christ.” 

“ He may find out your worth some day,” said 
the minister. I hope he will not find it out too 
late.” 

It was a happy day at Deerhill. The wedding 
was celebrated at Brindley Church. The works 
were closed, and the workpeople were treated to a 
day’s enjoyment at the sea-side. Many guests were 
invited to Deerhill. The wedding presents were 
numerous and costly, the congratulations were 
warm-hearted and sincere. Herbert was proud of 
his bride, and with very good reason, for her beauty 
was enhanced by the excitement of the occasion, 
and the charming attire in* which, with perfect 
taste, loving hands had decked her. She did her 
utmost to please, and Herbert heartily seconded 
her efforts, so that when, after a merry afternoon, 


The Riviera. 


179 


the time came for them to leave, they whirled 
down the drive, followed by showers of rice, half- 
a-dozen old slippers, and a cheerful chorus of good 
wishes from the whole company. 

Kate had expressed a wish to spend the honey- 
moon in the Riviera. It was too early in the year 
to expect fine weather in England and she thought 
they ought to seek fine weather in the sunny South. 
She had read and heard so much about the lovely 
scenery and the salubrious climate of the Riviera 
that she longed to go. Herbert needed no pursuad- 
ing. Aunt Ellen, and Mr. and Mrs. Stainclifie 
were quite agreeable. The bride’s wish in regard 
to the wedding arrangements was supreme. And 
away they went, light-hearted with pleasant antici- 
pation and rejoicing in their new found happiness, 
first to London and then forward to Mentone. 

They found delightful weather on the shores of 
the Mediterranean. Letters came back, written 
mostly by Kate, full of glowing descriptions of 
Mentone, and Cannes, and Nice, and San Remo, 
and Monaco — letters pervaded by happy feeling, 
which rejoiced the hearts of the readers at home. 
They began to feel that the marriage was an auspi- 
cious event in their family life, and that Herbert 
had thoroughly reformed, and was not likely to 
lapse again into his old ways. There was only one 
sad heart at Deerhill — the heart of Mr. Stainclifie. 
The sadness was not owing to Herbert’s marriage, 
but to another, and, as he thought, secret cause ; 
but it was a sadness which the joy of Herbert’s 
marriage could not overcome. 


i8o The Fall oj the Staincliffes^ 

“We heard from Kate again this morning,” said 
Lizzie, a fortnight after the wedding. 

“And how are they ?” asked Tom, “ Still the 
same ? ” 

“ As happy as they can be,” she replied. “ It 
must be a lovely place, Tom.” 

“I believe it is — charming! ” 

“ They seemed to have visited all the towns al- 
ready, and like them all, though some of them, of 
course, better than others. There is one place — 
what did she call it ? — Bordighcra — a very quiet 
place, where the palms are beautiful ; but they 
seem to have a preference for the busier towns, and 
like both Nice and Monaco.” 

“Kate is fond of life The busier towns will 
suit her. But Monaco is rather a dangerous quarter 
for Herbert. However, I think he’ll be safe 
enough with Kate.” 

Lizzie’s attention was mentally diverted, and 
she hardly heard Tom’s words. Unintentionally 
turning the conversation, she said, — 

“You remember my fern cabinet, Tom ? Harry 
Clough was admiring it on the day of the wedding, 
and made a remark about it to Belle which she 
could not understand. He said that you, Tom — 
XkidXyou must be a very handy workman to make so 
neat a cabinet as that. Belle told him that you had 
not made it, but that Herbert had bought it, and 
given it to me as a birthday present. Harry, how- 
ever, assured her that you had made it, because he 
had seen you working at it himself in your own 
house. Did you make it, really ? ” 


The Riviera. 


i8i 

‘‘ Why, Lizzie ! what does it matter who made it, 
so long as Herbert presented it ? ’* 

“ But did you, Tom? ’’ 

“ Well! and what if I did ?” 

“ I should prize it all the more, for one thing,’’ 
said Lizzie, with a blush. “ But if you made it, how 
did Herbert get hold of it ? Did he buy it from you.” 
“ No, Lizzie. I wouldn’t have sold it to anyone.” 

Then did you give it to Herbert that he might 
give it to me? ” 

“ Something like that.” 

But he gave it to me as if it were his own — as 
if he had purchased it for me? ” 

“ It was his own when I gave it to him.” 

“There is something about it I cannot understand,” 
said Lizzie, with a puzzled air. Explain Tom, please. 

“ You see, Lizzie,” said Tom, “ Herbert was hard 
up. He had been tempted to make a foolish bet 
with Dick Pashley, and, as a consequence, his money 
was transferred to Dick Pashley’s pocket. He 
wanted to buy something for you, but he had noth- 
ing to buy with, and so I made him take the cab- 
inet that he might give it to you, and thereby save 
both you and him from disappointment. He was 
your brother, Lizzie, and I was nobody, and what 
did it matter so long as you got the cabinet ? It 
was made for you, and perhaps it was better for you 
to receive it from somebody than nobody.” 

Lizzie’s face grew sad, and yet there was joy 
beaming through the sadness ; her eyes were dim 
with tears, and yet her lips were smiling ; and she 
turned toward Tom, and kissed him. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

FIRE ! 



HE cry of Fire ! ” rang through the streets of 


I Easingholme one Friday evening in April, — 
“Fire! ” frantically repeated by a man as he dashed 
along towards the fire-engine station, and, in his 
excitement, smashed the pane of glass with his fist 
in order to get at the key. Unheeding his bleeding 
knuckles, he still shouted “Fire!” and unlocked 
the station door, and began himself to pull out the 
engine. Many people heard him who did not see 
him, for it was dark, nearly nine o’clock, and they 
caught up the cry, and echoed it from street to 
street, “ Fire !” The steam buzz of a mill began to 
blow in order to indicate in which direction the fire 
was, and to spread the alarm wider ; and crowds 
began to gather, and run, some toward the place 
where the buzz was blowing, and some toward the 
fire-engine station. “Where is it?” asked one and 
another; but for some time no one seemed to know; 
then it spread with amazing rapidity, “ Staincliffe’s” 
and the horses, maddened by the shouting of the 
people, and the lash of the whip, plunged along the 
streets, and were pulled up, quivering and wet, 
in front of the burning works. 

-The fire had obtained a firm hold of the building 
before it was discovered. By the time the hose 
pipes were attached to the hydrants, and the 


( 182 ) 


Fire. 


183 


streams of water began to play upon the flames, 
which had broken out in the basement, and were 
surging toward the roof, puffs of smoke issued 
from cracks and crevices, and running bands of 
fire were seen where the woodwork had already 
ignited. The contents of the structure were of a 
highly inflammable kind. As the wooden barrels 
and cases, in which the various prepared sugars 
were packed, began to burn, and the sugars them- 
selves to melt and blaze, the fire became fiercer 
and the heat more intense. The firemen saw that 
their efforts to save the building were useless. 
Soon the whole roof was one sheet of bright flame, 
and, in a few minutes, fell in with a crash, breaking 
through the partially-consumed floors, and sending 
showers of sparks flying upward to the sky. The 
inside of the building was now converted into a 
furnace, the tongues of fire leaping over and con- 
suming the tumbled debris with hiss, and crackle, 
and roar, as if they were animated spirits delight- 
ing in their work of destruction. The firemen kept 
steadily at their work, pouring water upon the 
walls, and through the windows into the burning 
mass, and keeping their eyes open lest the fire 
should spread to the surrounding premises. 

An immense crowd of people had assembled, and 
gathered about the building on every side. The 
lurid light fell upon their upturned faces. Nearly 
all were lost in contemplation of the spectacle. 
Very few thought about the Staincliffes, not be- 
cause they did not synipathize with them— their 
sympathies would have been abundant if they .had 


184 The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

had time to think. They were simply intent upon 
watching the scene. And, as they looked up, 
pointing out to each other the progress of the 
flames, scarcely forbearing a shout when the roof 
fell in, the peculiarities of their faces, the lines that 
stamped each face with an individuality of its own, 
were revealed by the red glare with an almost ludi- 
crous distinctness. Their faces were seen in an 
unwonted aspect, an aspect tending to caricature, 
and only their faces, for the crowds were so dense, 
and the night was so dark that all underneath was 
dusky shadow. 

The oflice was attached to the main building, and 
burst into flames during the early progress of the 
fire. Two firemen were told off to play upon the 
office from an adjoining shed. After several ineffect- 
ual attempts to get the hose into position, the fire 
meanwhile enveloping the place, the two men 
poured a double stream of water through one of 
the windows. Suddenly one of them dropped his 
hose, and pointed excitedly to the office. His com- 
panion turned toward him, and then looked in the 
same direction ; and, after a hasty conference, they 
both leaped from the shed, and hurried across the 
yard. Like magic the news spread throughout the 
vast crowd, that there was some one in the burn- 
ing building. The excitement became intense. In 
suppressed whispers, and faces blanched with sym- 
pathetic fear, the people asked one of another, 
“Who is it?” No one could tell. Then, like magic 
again, it became known all through the crowds 
that it was Mr. Staincliffe, and the excitement be- 


came intenser still, while all eyes, on that side of 
the building which afforded the view, were turned 
toward the office. Three men were seen through 
the smoke, two firemen and another, planting a 
ladder against the office window, and, while the 
firemen held the ladder, and waited for his return, 
the other mounted to the window, and disappeared 
within. The people who were watching cheered 
the rescuer in his perilous enterprise. “ Who is 
it ? ” again asked the crow^ds in quick breath and 
with dilated eyes, and the answer spread, “ Robert 
Cresswell.” They waited, and waited, and waited ; 
every second seemed a minute, every minute seemed 
an hour ; the excitement became painful ; the crowd 
was hushed to silence, and nothing was heard 
save the crackle and roar of the fire, then, at the 
window, tugging at a heavy burden, Robert Cress- 
well reappeared, and a mighty shout of admiring 
welcome burst from the throats of the people. The 
burden seemed too heavy for him; he got it across 
the window, and stepped himself upon the ladder; 
but, suddenly relaxing his hold, he fell heavily 
to the ground. The firemen mounted the ladder, 
and brought the burden down bet'ween them — a 
burden disfigured and lifeless, all that remained of 
the mortal part of John Staincliffe. 

Robert Cresswell was carried to the hospital, suf- 
fering from a fractured shoulder, a broken thigh, 
and injuries from fire to hands and face which left 
upon him scars that were not removed to his dying 
day. He did not mind these. He had done his 
duty. The only sorrow he had was that he 


1 86 The Pall of the Staincliffes. 

had not been able to bring out John Stainclide 
alive. 

The fire burned down, the people dispersed, a 
feeling of sadness fell upon the whole town. The 
origin of the fire could not be explained. The 
presence of Mr. Staincliffe in the office, and, as 
Robert Cresswell testified, in a heavy stupor, was a 
mystery. Weeks after, when the claims upon him- 
self and the firm had been sent in, and his financial 
affairs had been thoroughly examined, it became 
known among the people that he had been going the 
wrong way for a long time. He had become involved 
in stock exchange speculations of the most rep- 
rehensible kind. His own money had disappeared ; 
and other moneys, for which he was sole trustee, 
and on which other people were dependent for a 
livelihood, beside moneys placed in his hands on 
behalf of minors, and to be paid with interest, when 
the children attained their majority, had also van- 
ished, and could not possibly be recovered. The 
sound commercial reputation of the firm, his own 
good name, strengthened by the good name of his 
father before him, his well-known intimate con- 
nection with one of the leading religious denomi- 
nations of the town, all induced people to think of 
him as a trustworthy man. And so he was, un- 
til he yielded to the desire for increased wealth by 
short processes, not contented to gain it as his 
father had gained it, and he himself hitherto, by 
honest and natural means. The desire increased 
until it became a consuming passion and hurried 
him into a fearful catastrophe. If the fire had not 


Fire^ 


187 

occurred, he must before long have become bank- 
rupt ; and he would have been forced to face in a 
court of justice the charge of misappropriating 
funds of which he was guardian, with the inevitable 
consequences of disgrace and imprisonment ; and 
when the people thought of this in connection with 
the fire, and his death, they drew their own con- 
clusions. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE FATAL FASCINATION, 


OM was the first to carry the sad news of the 



* disaster to Deerhill. The sound of the buzz 
had been faintly heard by them ; they had seen the 
ruddy gleam in the sky, and knew that there must 
be a fire in Easlngholme ; but never imagined that 
the fire was at their own works, and that Mr. Stain- 
clifie had been brought out of the burning building, 
dead. When Tom told his tale they were stricken 
with an overwhelming sorrow. Mrs. StainclifFe 
fell into unconsciousness beneath the blow. Belle 
wandered up and down the house as if demented 
with grief. Lizzie wept bitterly, but, in her tears, 
administered restoratives to her mother, and en- 
deavored to bring her to herself. Her efforts were 
unavailing. The doctor was called in, and she was 
carried to her room, and placed in bed, with a face 
pale as death, and only faintly breathing, and 
yet perhaps mercifully oblivious to the great grief 
which had suddenly broken into her heart and 


home. 


When Lizzie and Isabell were sufficiently com- 
posed to enter into conversation, it was arranged 
that Tom should dispatch a telegram to Herbert in 
the morning, apprising him of the event, and ask- 
ing him to hurry home. He could say very little to 
comfort the two sisters. The sorrow was so fresh 


( 188 ) 


The Fatal Fascination, 


189 


that words of comfort were like empty wind, lie 
had his own trouble, too, of which he said nothing 
to Lizzie and Belle. He had seen his father, and 
knew that his condition was very precarious. He 
was anxious to be with him at the hospital. With 
a promise that he would return in the morning, he 
hastened away, and was soon by his father’s bed- 
side. His mother was already there, ministering, 
as best she could, to her husband’s need. 

Robert Cresswell was in great pain, but he smiled 
at Tom as he came towards him, and moved his 
burnt hand to the edge of the bed by way of 
greeting. Tom saw that he wished to speak to 
him, and he bent low to hear his whispered 
words. 

“ Have you been to Deerhill, Tom ? ” 

Yes, father.” 

“ How are they ? ” 

“ Mrs. Staincliffe is very poorly, crushed by the 
news, and unconscious. She is in bed now, but the 
doctor says there is no immediate danger. Lizzie 
and Belle are bearing up moderately well.” 

“ What about Herbert? ” 

“ I am to wire him in the morning.” 

He inclined his head as if satisfied with the reply. 

“How are you, father?” 

“Not very well, Tom.” 

“ What do the doctors say?” 

‘‘ They say they’ll bring me round, and I think 
they will. But if they don’t it will be all right, Tom. 
I know in whom I have believedT His face again 
broke into a smile, visible notwithstanding the ban- 


190 The Fall of the Staincliffes. 

dages that nearly covered it, and his eyes filled with 
light. 

Next morning, when Tom was about leaving 
home to wire Herbert, a telegram was brought to 
the door addressed to him. He hastily opened the 
envelope, and read the message. His face turned 
pale, his hands trembled, and he looked in conster- 
nation at his mother. 

What is it, Tom ? ” she asked, in startled tones. 

“ Oh, mother ! another great sorrow ! ’’ 

“ How ? What ? Tell me, Tom ! ’’ said Mrs. 
Cress well, excitedly. 

“ Herbert is drowned ! ” 

“Herbert! Drowned!” exclaimed Mrs. Cress- 
well. “ Let me see, Tom.” And taking the tele- 
gram from Tom’s hands, Mrs. Cresswell read the 
news. 

There were no details in the telegram. Kate had 
sent it. Evidently her wish was, in sending the 
telegram to Tom, that he should break the news to 
the family. 

Tom went to Deerhill, to keep his promise of 
the evening before, and also to break the further 
news of trouble to the already stricken family. 
Mrs. Fairfax had heard of the calamity at Easing- 
holme, and was at Deerhill when Tom arrived. 
She saw him, and informed him that Mrs. Stain- 
cliffe was still in a comatose condition. Belle was 
in her bedroom, suffering from a severe headache, 
the result of a waking night of grief. Lizzie was 
with her mother, and would come down to him 
when Mrs, Fairfax took her place. Tom seized the 


The Fatal Fascination, 191 

opportunity of showing Mrs. Fairfax Kate’s tele- 
gram. She was inexpressibly shocked by the news, 
and, when she spoke, tremulously said to Tom, — 

“ Whatever shall we do? ” 

“I must leave you to tell Lizzie and Belle, Mrs. 
Fairfax; and I will pack up at once for Mentone, 
make the necessary arrangements there, and bring 
Kate home with me.” 

‘‘But your father is very dangerously injured, is 
he not? I saw that stated in the morning paper. 
He might not want you to leave him ! ” 

“I am quite sure father would have me do what 
I am proposing to do. He is badly hurt, but the 
doctors say he will recover.” 

By noon Tom had obtained leave of absence from 
the Bank, said farewell to his father and mother, 
gathered together the few things he required for 
the journey, and was seated in the express for Lon- 
don. He made what speed he could across the 
Channel, and hastened across the Continent by the 
quickest trains to the Riviera. Kate was expecting 
him, having received a telegram the day before to 
say that he was coming. She knew nothing of the 
catastrophe at Easingholme. Tom allowed her to 
ease her full heart by pouring out her grief to him 
before he said anything about the trouble at home. 
Then he cautiously approached it, and revealed to 
her the other sorrow in which they were plunged at 
Deerhill. 

Not until next day did Tom obtain the details 
connected with Herbert’s death. The first fortnight 
of the honeymoon had passed very pleasantly. The 


tg2 The Fall of the StaincUffes. 

different towns of the Riviera had been visited. 
The charming scenery had been thoroughly enjoyed. 
Driving, boating, concerts, social interchange, the 
observation of foreign ways, their own happiness, 
— all had combined to make that first fortnight a 
most delightful time. Upon their second visit to 
Monaco, Herbert, prompted by curiosity, would go 
to the Casino at Monte Carlo and watch the players 
at their various games; and, notwithstanding Kate’s 
remonstrance, ventured a small amount at roulette. 
He was inclined to venture again, but Kate insisted 
upon leaving, and soon after persuaded him to re- 
turn to Mentone. 

On the following Thursday Herbert was missing. 
Kate had noticed the full trains passing every day 
through Mentone, and returning as full in the even- 
ing. She wondered at first why this was so, but 
soon found out that the excitement of gambling in 
the far-famed Casino at Monte Carlo drew the 
crowds from all the towns of the Riviera in that 
direction. Some professed to go for a change of 
scene, others to view the picturesque coast line en 
route and others again to listen to the music, but 
for most of them the fascination was the Casino. 
Herbert felt the fatal drawing, and slipped away 
on this Thursday morning without informing Kate 
of his intention. She surmised where he had gone, 
and followed him. She found him engaged at one 
of the tables in playing trente-et-quarante and it 
was only with difficulty she could prevail upon him 
to leave the table, and afterwards to promise that 
he would not play again. 


The Fatal Fascination, 


193 


But the fascination had enthralled him. He was 
continually under temptation. The habit he had 
formed at home, and quietly indulged even when 
other habits had been broken, asserted itself with 
prevailing power. Kate kept a strict watch upon 
him. She feared to let him go out of her sight. 
She proposed that they should turn their steps home- 
ward, and spend the remainder of the honeymoon in 
Paris and London. But Herbert played with the pro- 
posal, and lingered in Mentone day after day. One 
afternoon a lively Frenchman engaged him in 
conversation, into which he entered with unwonted 
eagerness. Kate was a little way from them, and 
could not hear what was said, but she observed the 
Frenchman’s animated manner, and shrugs and 
grimaces, with some amusement, and thought, by 
Herbert’s remarkable attention, that what he was 
saying must be of uncommon interest. In the even- 
ing she said to Herbert, — 

“ What was that volatile Frenchman talking 
about this afternoon?” 

“ He was explaining a system of playing roulette^ 
which if carefully followed, would be sure to result 
in success.” 

“Has he tried it himself ? ” 

“ Yes ! and made a heap of money.” 

“Then why did he explain it to you?” 

“ He proffered to do it for a consideration — a 
few francs — and so I paid him, and he told me.” 

“You don’t intend trying it, Herbert?” 

“Ido. It is as plain as ABC. In an hour or 
two I could make all our expenses.” 


194 Fall of the Staincliffes, 

I don’t believe it, Herbert. How do you know 
the system will work ? The man may be a rogue. 
You have never seen him before.” 

“ The system will work beautifully, Kate. It 
is only a matter of simple calculation. I can see 
through it easily. Don’t you distress yourself 
about me.” 

“You promised me, Herbert, that you would not 
play again.” 

‘‘At trente-et quarante. But this is roulette. 
And I did not understand this method of playing 
when I promised you? ” 

“ I very much dislike gambling, Herbert. No 
good will come of it, I am sure. Let us go to Paris 
to-morrow.” 

“ Well ! I’ll tell you what I’ll do, Kate. I’ll try 
the system, and, if I find it failing. I’ll give it up, 
and we’ll go to Paris the day after to-morrow. I 
don’t call it gambling myself when there are defi- 
nite lines to go upon, and one knows beforehand 
how everything will turn out. That is not gamb- 
ling, not venturing on mere chances whether you 
win or lose, but calculation ; and if your calcula- 
tions are correct you must win.” 

“ I am not a casuist, Herbert, and do not desire 
to trouble myself with nice distinctions. The 
whole thing is wrong, and you ought not to have any- 
thing to do with it. if you go to Monaco again it 
will be in opposition to my- wishes. 

But Herbert’s mind was made *up. - For answer 
he simply kissed the troubled face of his young 
wife and did not refer to the subject again. 


The Fatal Fascination, 195 

Next morning he was gone. He procured a card 
for the Casino. Very soon he was deeply engaged 
in roulette. He placed his money time after time 
upon certain numbers on the table, and w'atched 
the cylinder and ball revolve with feverish 
interest. His calculations were nicely made, and 
the time came for him to recoup himself, but lo ! 
the ball dropped into the wrong space, and he had 
lost instead of won. He would try a second time. 
As the game again proceeded, his interest deepened, 
and, when the time came for him to win according 
to the system he was carefully following, his interest 
became intense ; but the second time he lost, and 
his money was swept away. He began to doubt 
the system, and thought he would return to Men- 
tone. But he was tempted to try the third 
time, and the third time he won. He became 
greatly excited. He felt convinced that the fail- 
ures the first and second time were owing to mis- 
calculations. He had now got well hold of the 
system. He was on the high road to fortune. He 
tried again, and again, and again, failure succeeding 
failure, however, almost without a break, his ex- 
citement increasing all the while, until he became 
oblivious to everything but the spinning cylinder 
and ball. When his money was all gone he sud- 
denly realized his position. The system was a 
fraud, as cleverly devised as most others, but the 
most cleverly devised cannot defeat the purpose of 
the “Bank” at Monte Carlo. 

A young man hired a boat at Mentone that even- 
ing. The boat was found, three hours later, float- 


196 The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

ing without an occupant; and during the night a 
body was washed ashore, the body of Herbert 
StainclifTe. 

As soon as arrangements could be made, Tom 
had the body placed in a shell, and brought it with 
him, accompanied by the young widow, to Easing- 
holme. In one week there were two funerals from 
Deerhill — father and son, both ruined by the same 
evil, which had fascinated both in different ways. 
The double event made a profound impression upon 
the town. The sympathies of the people for the 
sorrowing family were deeply moved. And yet 
there were very few who calmly considered the 
cause of all this sorrow, and fewer still who were 
willing to remove it from their own lives, and, so 
far as they could, from the lives of others. Gamb- 
ling still increased, and prepared fresh victims, from 
ail classes of society, for misery and death. 


CHAPTER XX. 


CONCLUSION, 


IME, under the blessing of God, is very merci- 



^ ful. With his soft, healing hand upon us, 
our minds are quieted, and our hearts find rest. 
The troubles that distressed us, the sorrows, that 
filled our hearts, are not taken quite away, but bet- 
ter than that, they are transformed, and remain 
only to bless us by a wider, deeper and richer ex- 
perience. 

Mrs. Staincliffe was long absorbed with the bit- 
terness of her grief. Lizzie found her solace in the 
Sunday-school at Brindley, and in the visitation of 
certain people whose troubles were as great as her 
own. Belle mourned in secret, and in secret also 
sought comfort from a source to which she had 
never been driven before. She obtained something 
besides comfort. A new gladness beamed in her 
eyes, a rarer beauty revealed itself in her counte- 
nance. She joined Lizzie in her Sunday-school 
work, and requested Lizzie to allow her to bear her 
company in her visits to the poor. Lizzie’s heart 
was overjoyed. She said, “ I know what it is, Belle. 
You have found peace. You have seen the Saviour. 
Haven’t you?” And Belle put her arms round her 
neck, and kissed her. 

Gradually the bitterness passed away from Mrs. 
Staincliffe’s mind and heart. She began to interest 
herself in household affairs. She saw the calm 


198 The Fall of the Staincliffes, 

sweet life of her two daughters, and her heart be- 
gan to fill with gratitude, then with joy. There 
was much to be done, and like a true woman she 
bestirred herself to do it. Deerhill had to be va- 
cated, and arrangements made for another home. 
Many business matters required her attention. 
Various financial settlements had to be made. Her 
own private income was greatly reduced, but she 
parted with the money without a pang. And, by 
the time they had entered upon their altered life in 
a small villa at Brindley, Mrs. Staincliffe felt that 
the keenness of her grief was gone, and that she 
was another woman. 

A new joy came into her life the next Christmas 
by the advent of a babe at Dunsford — a babe named 
after his father, Herbert Staincliffe. Her sister and 
daughter-in-law removed to Brindley, and occupied 
a neighboring villa, and she became happier still. 
She nursed the babe, and kissed him, and wept over 
him, and saw all kinds of fancied resemblances to 
his father in him while he was very young, and as 
he grew up he became the hope of her life. 

Two years passed away and Lizzie had left her, 
Tom Cress well’s happy bride; another two years, 
and Belle had gone, married to Harry Clough, who 
wooed and won her by his sunny face and faithful 
heart. These marriages were no sorrow to her, be- 
cause both daughters settled in Easingholme, and 
she saw them frequently. Mrs. Fairfax and Kate 
came to live in the same house with her after Belle’s 
marriage, and the three women devoted themselves 
to the care of Herbert’s child. 


Conclusion. 


199 


One morning Mrs. Staincliffe was summoned to 
Easingholme to Tom’s home. Belle had arrived 
before her. Mr. and Mrs. Robert Cresswell 
were also there. A nurse came into the room 
where they were sitting, accompanied by Tom, with 
a beaming face, and a precious bundle in his arms. 
He had bargained with the nurse to carry the bun- 
dle, and had promised that he would do it with the 
most scrupulous care. The wrappings were thrown 
aside to disclose a dainty mortal in muslin and lace, 
squeezing his eyelids tightly together to keep out 
the light, and protesting with all the power of his 
lungs against this public exhibition. Tears came 
into Mrs. Staincliffe’s eyes. Turning to Robert 
Cresswell, who, with scarred face, was standing 
by, she said, — 

‘‘What shall we call him, Robert? ” 

And with deep emotion, and a gladsome heart, 
Robert replied, — 

“John Staincliffe Cresswell.” 




f.'- 



^ V-‘- -r »: M 



;. p* ■' , -I ' -Tli ‘ ^ T7 T .. 4 , , y 

■ “f. ^-d 


: 5:‘.>'^'7f' ■' ■ '•IRt-UjX 

' i v'^V t ■ l*'’'»'^ 

-.V>n » -' V' \p.4rv:. 

.tA, .*■ .. •' i K. , ♦ . 


•<!l> 


^d! 



'•/u 




»• 


•' < I ‘5 ► 


# 1 r* 


. • ^1 w 


i 





I I *r 


■| I ' ’.■'. 

*V f 


•* ' « 


4 S 


# « 


4^'i 


^ . 



* «. 


' 0 . "^'.X W; Ji> “•' 



i'- .JC-#-! If* 





t.; j^, ' ,;j|, * . 

.4U 



» i 


i ■ *■■ -X 

■' ■ • c- ►' , -- ^ 


•i .>7 

pb. 


* '■■% ' ^ 





mt '» 

« • 







£:L^^W' k''2# 


A SELECTION 


FROM 

Fleming H. Revell Company’s 


CATALOGUE. 


The New Enlarged and Authorized Edition of a Remarkable Work;. 

THE CHRISTIAN'S 

SECRET OF A HAPPY LIFE. 

This Work, the demand for which 
has been so great as to wear out two 
sets of plates, has now been put in 
entirely new form. The book hav- 
ing become an accepted classic in de- 
votional literature, it was thought 
wise to issue this new edition in a 
compact form, and in a variety of 
bindings. Occasion has also been 
taken by the author to thoroughly re- 
vise the whole work, besides adding 
considerable new matter. 

Few Books of a Religious Character have been 
accorded such Hearty and Universal En- 
dorsement from all Denominations. 

“ To commend this work would seem almost superfluous; 
and yet to young Christians who may not know it, we can- 
not refrain from saying. Buy this book, and keep it with 
your Bible for constant study, until you have thoroughly 
mastered, in your own experience, the ‘ secret * of which it 
tells. It will transform the dark days of your life, as it 
has transformed those of thousands before you, into days 
of heavenly light.” — 2^ew York Erdiigelist. 

“ We have not for years read a book with more delight 
and profit. The author has a rich experience, and tells it 
in a plain and delightful manner .” — Christian Advocate, 



The “ Handy Classic Edition.” 18mo, 292 pages as follows ; 
Each in separate box, gilt edge, round corners, except No. 3. 


No. 3, Cloth, full gilt edges.. S 85 
4, French Morocco, Seal 
Grain 1 50 

6, French Morocco, Rus- 

tic Gold Bands 1 50 

7, White Enamel, Easter 

or Wedding Edition. 1 50 


No, 8, Persian Calf, Broken 

Glass Pattern SI 'I'S 

10, Calf, plain 2 OO 

12, Best German Calf 

Embossed 2 25 

14, Best German Calf 

Padded 2 50 


The “Standard Edition.” 12mo, 240 pages as follows : 

No. 01 Paper covers 50 | No. 02 Cloth, fine-.-......- 76 

No. 03 Cloth, full gilt edges 1 00 

WEW YORK.;; Fleming H. Revell Company -Chicago. 


ff^u/ for Bible I^eadiij^s, 


BT THE LATE 

S. R. BRIQQS, 
with brief Memoir of the author, 
by Rev. JAS. H. BROOKES, D. D. 

Every one of the many readers of “Notes 
and Suggestions for Bible Readings” 
will welcome this entirely new collection 
containing selections from B, L. Moody, 
Maj. Whittle, Rev. J. II. Brookes, D.D.,Piof. 
W G. Moorehead, Rev. E. P. Marvin, Jno. 
Currie, Rev.W J.Erdman, Rev. F. E.Marsh 
Dr. L. W. Munball, and many others. 

“This practical and valuable com pend is not to be confounded 
with the well-known ‘Notes and Suggestions for Bible Read- 
ings,’ edited by S. R. Bkiggs and J. H. Elliott, which has 
reached, during the past six years a sale of 30,000 copies. The 
entire new volume is suggestive and serviceable.”— TAe Freshy- 
terian. 

“ The book is admirably adapted to its purpose. Through Dr. 
Brookes’ brief memoir the reader becomes exceedingly interested 
in the personality of the late author and so enjoys studying 
Scriptures under his leadership.”— Golden Rule. 

“The readings are practical, helpful, full of suggestiveness, 
and bring out the most important points and truths in the subjects 
on which they are based. It is, in fact, the best thing of the 
kind we have seen.”— Christian at Work. 

232 pages, crown 8vo, with Complete Index. 

Bound In Cloth, Library Edition, - • • • $1.00 

Cioth Fiexibie, Traveiiers’ Edition, • • • • .76 



|*/ote5 a^d S(]§§(?stioi7S 

for Bibl(? I^eadlij^s. 

Compiled by S. R. BRIGGS and J. H. ELLIOTT. 

“It is a capital book, and if possible, would like to reprint it 
and place a copy in the hands of each of our students.” — C. H. 
Spurgeon. 

262 pages, Crown 8vo, with Complete Index. 

Bound in Cloth, Library Edition $1 00 

Cloth, Flexible, Travellers’ Edition - 75 

Cheap Paper Cover Edition 60 

NEW YORK.:: Fleming H. Revell Company ;; Chicago. 




From The Missionary 
Herald. 

“ We commended this ser- 
ies in our last issue, and a 
further examination leads us 
to renew our commendation, 
and to urge the placing of 
this series of missionary 
books in all our Sabbath- 
school libraries. 

These books are handsome- 
ly printed and bound and are 
beautifully illustrated, and we 
are confident that they will 
prove attractive to all young 
people.” 


“ These are not pans of milk, but little pitchers of cream, compact and 
condensed from bulkier volumes.”— Dr, A. T. Pierson. 




SAMTTEIj CHOWTHERf the Slave Roy who became 
Rishop of the Niger* By Jesse Page, author of “ Bishop 
Patteson.” 

THOMAS tT* C03TRER, Missionary Pioneer to the 
Congo. By Rev. J. B. Myers, Association Secretary Baptist Mis- 
sionary Society. 

RISHOP PATTESON, the 3lartyr of Melanesia, By 

Jesse Page. 

GRIFFITH I OHN, Founder of the Hanhow 3Iission, 
Central China, By Wm. Robson, of the London Missionary 
Society. 

RORERT MORRISON, the Pioneer of Chinese Jfis- 
sions. By Wm. J. Townsend, Sec. Methodist New Connexion 
Missionary Society. 

RORERT 310FFAT, the Missionary Hero ofKuruman, 
By David J. Deane, author of “ Martin Luther, the Reformer,” etc. 

WILII AM CAREY, the Shoemaker who became a 3Iis- 
sionary. By. Rev. J. B. Myers, Association Secretary Baptist 
Missionary Society. 

fJA3IES CHAI3IERS, Missionary and Explorer of 
Rarotonga and New Guinea, By Wm. Robson, of the 
London Missionary Society. 

MISSIONARY PARIES IN FOREIGN ZANRS. By 
Mrs. E. R. Pitman, author of “ Heroines of the Missionary Fields,” 
etc. 

HAMES CAZVERT; or. From Rark to RawninFiji, 
OHN WIZZIAMS, the Martyr of Polynesia, By Rev. 
James J. Ellis. . 

HENRY 3IARTYN, His life and labors. By Jessb 
Page, author of “Bishop Patterson,” etc. 

NEW YORK. Fleming H. Revell Company. cHicAoa 



“ HERE ARE TWO BOOKS 

kindred in their character, 
though distinct in the kind of 
information given, which every 
Bible student, be he preacher, 
Sunday • school teacher, oi 
Christian worker of any sort, 
will wish to have as soon as he 
has laid his eyes upon them. 
They are genuine helps to 
Scripture study, and each in its 
way thorough and complete. 
We know of no two works that 
will prove more servicable to 
this end, aside from the Bible 
itself, than the two volumes 
now before us.”— Stand- 
ard, 


The Bible Text Cyclopedia. A complete classification 
of Scripture Texts in the form of an alphabetical list of 
subjects. By Rev. James Inglis. Large 8vo, 524 pages, 
cloth, f 1.75. 

'•'‘The Bible Text Cyclopedia^"''' by James Inglis, “is a com 
plete classification of Scripture texts in the form of an alphabetic 
cal list of subjects, which is more sensible and convenient, and 
every way more satisfactory, than any book of the kind we have 
ever known, for some years we have had it in constant service 
in our Bible study ; and our sense of its value has grown with the 
passing years. We know of no other work comparable with it, 
in this department of Extract from editorial in Sun- 

day-School Times^ 

The Treasury of Scripture Knowledge. Consisting 
of Five Hundred Thousand Scripture references and 
parallel passages, and numerous illustrative notes. 8 vo, 
cloth, 700 pages, $2.00. 

“You have conferred a favor on the Bible Students of America 
by issuing your edition of The Treasury of Scripture Knowl- 
edge, It is a great improvement on Bagster’s edition. Bible 
students who desire to compare scripture with scripture will find 
the Treasury to be a better help than any other book of which I 
have any knowledge.”—^. B, McBurney^ Gen'll Sedy Y, M. C. A. 
2few York* 

CHICAGO. Fleming H. Revell Company, newyork. 



Work$ of D. L MOODY. 



“By the strenuous cultivation of 
his gift Mr. Moody has attained 
to a clear and incisive style which 
preachers ought to study; and he 
has the merit, which many more 
cultivated men ‘lack, of saying 
nothing that does not tend to the 
enforcement of the particular 
truth he is enunciating. He 
knows how to disencumber his 
text of all extraneous matter, and 
exhibits his wisdom as a preacher 
hardly less by what he leaves out 
than by what he includes. Apart 
from its primary purpose each of 
these books has a distinct value 
as a lesson on homiletics to min- 
isters and students.” — 

The Christian Leader. 


SOVEREIGN GRACE. 

BIBLE CHARACTERS. 

PREVAILING PRAYER; WHAT HINDERS IT. 30th Thousand. 

TO THE WORK! TO THE WORK! A Trumpet Call. 30th Thousand. 
THE WAY TO GOD AND HOW TO FIND IT. 105th Thousand. 


HEAVEN ; its Hope ; its Inhabitants ; its H^ippinesr , its Riches ; its 
Reward. 125th Thousand. 


SECRET POWER; or, the Secret of Success in Christian Life and 
Work. 72d Thousand. 


TWELVE SELECT SERMONS. 165th Thousand. 


The above are bound in uniform style and price. Paper covers* 
30 cerrts; cloth, 60 cents. Also the eight books are bound in four 
volumes. Price of Set, in neat box, $4.00. 


DANIEL, THE PROPHET. 10th Thousand. Paper cover, 20c.; cloth, 
40c 

THE FULL ASSURANCE OF FAITH. 7th Thousand. Some thoughts 
on Christian confidence. Paper cover, 15c.; cloth, 25c. 

THE WAY AND THE WORD. 65th Thousand. Comprising “ Regen- 
eration,” and “ How to Study the Bible.” Cloth, 25c.; paper, 15c. 

HOW TO STUDY THE BIBLE. 45th Thousand. Cloth, 15c.; paper, 10c! 
THE SECOND COMING OF CHRIST. 45th Thousand. Paper, 10c. 
INQUIRY MEETINGS. By Mr. Moody and Maj. Whittle. Paper, 15c. 
GOSPEL BOOKLETS. By D. L. Moody. 12 separate sermons. 

Published in small, square form, suitable for distribution, or inclos- 
ing in letters. 35 cents per dozen, $2.50 per hundred. May be had 
assorted or of any separate tract. 


Fleming H. Revell Company. 


CHICAGO. 


NEW YORK 


ATTRACTIVE TRUTHS. 

IN LESSON AND STORY. 

A 

Y, P. S. C. B. 

TEXT-BOOK FORJDNIOR SOCIETIES. 

A series of outline lessons, with il- 
lustrative stories for Junior Chris- 
tian Endeavor Societies, Child- 
ren's Meetings, and Home 
Teaching. 

By Mrs. A. M. SCUDDER, 

With Introduction by Rev. Francis 
E. Clark, President Y. P. S. C. E, 

12mo9 351 Clotli) $1.25. 

Dr. Clark, in his introduction, says:— “ This book we most heartily 
welcome, not only for what it indicates, but for what it is, for we have 
never seen any work more admirably fitted to its purpose. In fact lit- 
erature of this sort is very scanty, and so far as we know, this book 
occupies a place all its own. In the home, in Sunday-school class, in 
the mission circle, above all, in the children’s meeting, this volume will 
find its place, and will be welcomed eagerly by many a perplexed par- 
ent, pastor, and teacher. 

We do not see why this book, with its weaftn of suggestive material, 
its outline studies on all matters of practical Christianity, and its hap- 
pily chosen stories, may not be used a', a text-book by leaders of these 
societies.” 

/ 

“This book occupies a new field, and occupies it well. No other 
book in the language, so far as we know, has even attempted just this 
task of providing a manual for teachers of children’s classes, superin- 
tendents of Junior Endeavor Societies and the like. Each lesson be- 
gins with certain Eibl^ texts bearing on the subject, to be marked 
and explained, then an outline of the subject, followed by a story 
which illustrates and enforces it. There is nothing weak or puerile 
about the book, but there is a wealth of information and suggestion, of 
which thousands of workers among the children will avail themselves. 
Superintendents of Junior Christian Endeavor Societies will find it very 
useful, in fact, almost indispensable. We commend it most cordially.” 

•^Golden Rule, 

cHicAco. Fleming H.ReYell Company, newyohk. 



fOrill/AK COMMENTABIBS. 

Please notice that this is 
the ONLY Commentary upon 
the whole Bible published at 
a moderate price. It is, 
therefore, within reach of 
everyone, while no Com- 
mentary published is so 
highly commended or so well 
adapted for the home, the 
teacher or the preacher, 
when a practical, concise, 
critical and spiritual work 
is desired. 

In the critical Biblical lit- 
erature of the century, few 
books have been so unquali- 
fiedly indorsed as 


Jamieson, Fansset & Brown's Commentary 

On the Old and New Testaments. It has been tried, 
tested and proven, during one of the most active periods 
ever known in Biblical research. That it has not been 
found wanting is evident in the still unabated demand. At 
considerable outlay we have issued a new edition of this 
valuable work, in clear type, attractively bound, and at a 
price much lower than any complete commentary ever be- 
fore issued. 

In extra fine English Cloth, sprinkled edges, 

the full set {4 vols.), $8.00, 

In Half Morocco, the full set (4 vols ), - - 10.00, 

“ The BEST condensed Commentary on the whole Bible 
is the Commentary on the Old and New Testaments by 
Jamieson Fausset and Brown. It contains notes of the 
choicest and richest character on all parts of the Holy Bible. 
It is the cream of the Commentaries carefully collected by 
three eminent scholars. Its critical introduction to each book 
of Scripture, its eminently practical notes, its numerous pic- 
torial illustrations, commend it strongly to the Sunday- 
school worker and to the clergyman. Then it is such a 
marvel of cheapness.” — Rt. Rev, J, H. Vincent, D. D., in 
^ Aids to Bible Study.** 

^ The leading clergymen and college professors of the country unite 
with Bishop Vincent in placing this Commentary in the first rank of all 
Biblical aids. 

^^"Send for Circular fully describing this Work. 

Fleming EReYell Company. 



CHICACO. 


NEW YORK* 


8ZTGGJBSTIVB BOOKS 

BOR BIBBB RBADBRS. 

■ 4 ' • » 

THE OPEN SECRET ; or, the Bible Explaining 
Itself. By Hannah Whitall Smith. 

That the author of this work has a faculty of presenting 
the “Secret Things’* that are revealed in the Word of 
God, is apparent to all who have read the exceedingly pop- 
ular work, The Christian’s Secret of a Happy Life,” 
and such will not be disappointed in expecting to find in 
this new volume a fullness and sweetness in the unfolding of 
God’s Word, in its application to the practical and daily du- 
ties of Christian living. i2mo, 320 pages, cloth, $1.00. 

BIBLE BRIEFS; or, Outline Themes for Scrip- 
ture Students. By G. C. and E. A. Needham. i6mo, 
224 pages, cloth, $1.00. 

“ Here are sermons in miniature, which any preacher will find it 

{ )rofitable to expand into sermons in full measure. True Biblical out- 
ines are here ; not artificial ‘ sketches,’ but Scripture frame-works. 
Oh, that the preachers would depend on such frame-works, rather than 
on such fire-works as many of them attempt !” — Rev, A.J, Gordons 
D, D.s in The Watchword. 

“ Here you have meat without bones, and land without stones. Mr, 
and Mrs. Needham will have the gratitude of many a hard-pressed 
teacher when he is hard up for a talk.” — Rev. C. H. Spurgeon, 

BIBLE HELPS FOR BUSY MEN. By A. C. P. 

COOTE. 

Contains over 200 Scripture subjects, clearly worked out 
and printed in good legible type, with an alphabetical 
index. 140 pages, i6mo, paper, 30c. ; cloth, 60c. 

“ The topics are familiar in thought and form, and are in many cases 
admirably adapted for Bible readings and for prayer meetings. ‘ Busy 
Men,’ upon whom rests the responsibility of leading a meeting and 
choosing a topic, and especially of conducting an evangelistic meeting, 
will find this little book of decided value .” — The Golden Rule, 

“ Likely to be of use to overworked brethren.”— C. H. Spurgeon. 

•* Given in a clear and remarkably telling ioxva.,^' ^Christian Leader., 

CHICAGO. Fleming H. Revell Company, newvorr. 


An Agent wanted in every Town in the United States to 
canvass for this work. 



1 00.000 

SYNONYMS 

AND 

ANTONYMS. 


A COMPLETE DICTIONARY 

OF 

Synonyms and Antonyms, or, Synonyms and 
Words of Opposite Meaning, 

With an Appendix 

Embracing a Dictionary of Briticisms, Americanisms, Collo- 
quial Phrases, etc., in current use; the Grammatical uses 
of Prepositions and Prepositions Discriminated, a 
list of Homonyms and Homophonous Words; 
a collection of Foreign Phrases, and 
a complete list of Abbreviations 
and Contractions used in 
v^Titing and printing. 

BY 

Rt. Rev. SAMUEL FALLOWS, A. M., D. D. 

One Vol. 5 1 2 Pages, Cloth. Price, $1.00. 

Cloth, Gilt, Beveled Board, Canary Edge. Price, $1.50. 

Daily American, Nashville, Tenn. 

“ A book that may be called well nigh invaluable to every 
class of people — students, literary men, public speakers, or any 
who have much of writing to do. Scarcely any one can afford 
to do without it, and to the person who writes in a hurry it 
will prove a boon, indeed.” 

Col. Francis W. Parker, Principal Cook County Normal School. 

* ‘ A very valuable book to have at ones elbow for constant 
use.” 

Thos. B. Stockwell, State Commissioner Public Schools, 
Providence, Rhode Island. 

“ Of real value and helpful in many ways, and will commend 
itself to every student.” 


CHICAGO. 


Fleming H.Re¥ell Company. 


NEW YORK. 


Miss Hhverghl’s Poems. 


Author’s Edition. 


THE 

Poetics etf llJorSg 

-OF- 

FRANCES 
RIDLEY 

HAVERGAL. 

THE ONLY COMPLETE UNABRIDGED 

AUTHORIZED EDITION PUBLISHED 

IN AMERICA. In i Vol. i2mo, 880 Pages. 

Miss Havergal stands without a peer in the English language 
in the department of religious poetry. The enormous sale of her 
separate books is evidence of a world-wide appreciation. 

Cloth extra $2 00 

Cloth bevelled boards, full gilt edges 2 50 

Half white vellum cloth, gilt top, uncut edges 2 50 
Full Levant, Antique finish o 00 



We quote the following from the Publishers'' Weekly: 

“It is in answer to many requests, that the various 
Poems, Hymns and Songs of Frances Ridley Hav- 
ERGAL, are comprised in this library edition. The 
labor of love was undertaken by Mms Havergal’s 
niece, who revised and arranged with much care this 
final edition. The book in paper, print 
and binding is all that could be desired.” 


CHICAGO. 


Fleming H. Revell Company. 


NEW YORK. 




/^...^ ^ 





•* * 


m 


> 

' I » 


•N • 




1 ^— . - ^ V \- ’ ^* . • • 

3- • fj s r ' 4 ■ *o^'^-« 

J* .tv* 

^r i$' \* ' \y •- . • 

t %- . : ■-. - ' t : -r’ 


I* 

- I - 


V 


Vi. - 


Cf - 


cr 


rt 


.5^' ■ .jy^. ., ■ .'• - ■ . ’D-'*. C '.’- • ;M 






» •• I 


^ '■- i ' 


I I 


• * 

* 


i 


■ ' ^»- •’ 


I'., 





t . i.-, JT 


■ ■ l/KT^ v-^ ■^' ■- : 

t' i»/‘w' . • ■» ‘j ■-■ ^ 




' '... v . f ' i ; 


*11 




i ' • '* y * ^ • • .'i ■ ^ ■»• 


.» 4 , , 

V • M ^ 


*tr 


t- # 






f » t 






*T 




'4 . •*" 












i i| j 




■ ■ .■”* T ■ • ■ * 

• \ f jpr,% ^ , •' V - 1_J[H. 

^'»^' ■ r '^■•. * • • * ' V * . > »■ 



-'■‘ij' ,' 'ii! 

‘•#-^ • ■ 7 ' 7 « .-"ij* 

. - •-- - ■ *'- ' V i2-.!3B 



r- 

, > 'r 

,* . 

• - ' 


-■ >■ 
■i 


‘•*r 


!:.-'S: 


r-*, 


i*' ) 

♦t. 


r' , 

> • 


% 




V 

I 



r. >' 


• •. 


i 


*t.a 

•' ^ 


r 

>■ rj?., * '. 


« 1- 

. J 

* ^:< 


« A 

’•' A 



. i..^ •- . ., , 

r> 

^ * -> ' 

IKw 


•*.' 


. .., . . ., 

♦».** ■.' *j •'* • . ' ' 

: ■ • ■ • ^ -r ^ iiP ■' 



1 * 

^0 


" - •> '0* 

* -1* i 



» - • 


. 

ir'Vl 




Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process 
Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: 



m rm 

IBBRftEEPER 


PRESERVATION TECHNOLOGIES, INC. 

cT ^ ^ ^ Thomson Park Drive 
/v ^ Cranberry Twp., PA 1 6066 
(412)779-2111 







